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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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http://www.archive.org/details/fedoraortragedyiOObeloiala 


FEDORA: 


OR, 


THE  TRAGEDY  IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX. 


ADOLPHE    BELOT 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 

By  A.    D.    H. 


CHICAGO: 

Rand,  McNally  &  Company,  Publishers, 

148,   150,   152  AND   154  MONROE  STREET;    and 

323  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 

1 v  88. 


<±> 


IMBL 11111111 

A  PERFECT  SOAR  AND  DELICATE 
HANDKERCHIEF  PERFUME  ARE 
NECESSARY  TOILET  ARTICLES  " 
FOR  PEOPLE  OF  REFINED  AND 
CULTIVATED  TASTES 


Copyrighted  1888,  bj  RAND,  McNALLY  &  CO. 


FEDORA: 

OR, 

THE  TRAGEDY  IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX. 


PART    I. 


Political  interests  so  absorbed  attention  in  France  dur- 
ing the  first  months  of  the  year  1848,  that  few  persons 
remember  to-day  the  numerous  private  or  judicial  events 
of  that  exciting  period.  In  fact,  what,  in  quiet  times,  is 
sufficient  to  give  food  to  the  insatiable  Parisian  curiosity, 
seems  of  no  account  in  days  of  trouble  and  revolution. 
How  is  it  possible  to  be  interested  in  a  drama  which 
takes  place  between  the  four  walls  of  a  house,  or  behind 
the  door  of  a  court  of  assizes,  when  there  are  passing 
before  our  eyes  events  with  which  we  are  directly  con- 
nected, and  in  the  result  of  which  our  dearest  interests 
are  bound  up?  The  call  to  arms,  the  roll  of  the  drum 
and  the  boom  of  the  cannon  swallow  up  other  sounds, 
and  render  us  deaf  to  all  private  cries  of  distress. 

This  explains  how,  without  much  attention  being  paid 


4  FEDORA  I   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

to  it,  there  was  tried  in  Paris,  in  the  first  part  of  March, 
1848,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary,  dramatic  and  inter- 
esting cases  in  all  the  records  of  the  court.  We  are 
about  to  relate  it  in  all  its  details,  taking  our  data  from 
the  journals  of  the  time,  our  own  personal  recollections, 
and  certain  particular  information  which  has  been  com- 
municated to  us. 

On  the  20th  of  October,  1847,  the  diligence,  which 
still  ran  at  that  time  between  Marseilles  and  Paris,  set 
down  before  the  coach  office  in  the  Rue  Notre-Dame-des- 
Victoires,  two  women  worthy,  for  more  than  one  reason, 
of  attracting  attention.  They  were  both  young  and 
remarkably  beautiful,  and  there  was  something  in  their 
general  air  and  appearance  that  indicated  at  the  first 
glance  a  foreign  origin.  One  of  them,  especially,  was  of 
a  type  of  beauty  full  of  odd  contrasts:  a  purely  Greek 
profile,  large,  soft  blue  eyes,  but  rather  full  lips  betraying 
a  passionate  nature,  and  thick  eyebrows  which  almost 
met  and  which  revealed  indomitable  energy;  a  dark  com- 
plexion, with  a  bright, clear  color  in  the  cheeks,  and  heavy 
black  hair  with  blue  reflections  in  it  framing  an  oval 
face  whose  contour  the  Virgins  of  Perugin  might  have 
envied.  It  was  evident  that  she  was  a  native  of  sunny 
Italy. 

Fedora,  in  fact,  was  a  Genoese,  like  her  companion,  a 
tall  and  handsome  brunette. 

Besides  their  traveling  bags,  they  held  in  their  hands 
a  large  orange  branch,  and  one  of  those  palms  which  are 
used  at  Rome  in  certain  religious  ceremonies,  and  which 
are  cultivated  chiefly  at  the  pretty  little  village  of  Bordi- 
ghera. 

These  two  Italians  were  at  the  same  time  Parisians,  or 
at  least  they  were  no  strangers  to  the  customs  of  Paris; 
the  coach  office  seemed   particularly  familiar  to  them. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  5 

The  one  whom  we  have  called  Fedora  had  at  first  hesi- 
tated to  descend  from  the  diligence;  she  seemed  to  be 
expecting  a  friend.  Then  she  hastened  without  hesita- 
tion to  the  waiting  room.  She  did  not  find  there,  prob- 
ably, the  person  whom  she  expected  to  see,  for,  after  a 
rapid  glance  about  the  room,  she  went  to  the  neighboring 
street;  but  there  also  her  search  was  useless,  and  Fedora, 
in  great  disappointment,  returned  to  her  companion,  who 
was  settling  with  the  guard. 

"He  is  not  here!  what  does  it  mean?"  she  cried,  as  she 
reached  her  side. 

"  Patience,  signora,  he  will  come." 

"Patience!  patience!  When  I  have  not  seen  him  for 
two  months — when  I  ought  already  to  have  kissed  him  a 
hundred  times!" 

"What,  before  everybody?" 

"Is  he  not  my  husband?" 

"Certainly,  certainly;  oh!  you  have  the  right,  Madame, 
but—" 

"Madame?     You  call  me  Madame,  now?" 

"  We  are  in  Paris." 

"  Need  that  change  our  relations?  I  have  already  told 
you,  Marietta,  that  you  must  continue  to  be  as  familiar 
with  me  here  as  at  Genoa;  you  are  my  foster  sister,  my 
countrywoman ;  and  I  will  not  allow  you  to  consider  your- 
self a  servant.  And  now  we  have  scarcely  reached 
France,  when  you  rebel.  Ah!  if  my  husband  were  here, 
he  would  teach  you  a  lesson.  But  I  hear  a  carriage;  it  is 
he,  without  doubt." 

With  charming  petulance  she  hastened  to  the  carriage 
which  had  entered  the  court,  but  returned  almost  im- 
mediately. 

"  No,"  she  said,  impatiently,  "  it  is  a  very  ugly  gentle- 
man; it  is  not  my  husband." 


6  FEDORA :    OR,   THE  TRAGEDY 

"Are  you  sure  that  he  received  your  letter?"  asked 
Marietta. 

"  He  must  have  done  so.  I  posted  it  myself  at  Mar- 
seilles, two  days  before  our  departure,  and  the  mail  is 
much  quicker  than  the  diligence." 

"  Then  M.  Vidal  must  have  overslept  himself;  didn't  he 
say  in  one  of  his  last  letters  that  he  had  been  obliged  to 
dismiss  his  valet  and  was  alone?" 

"Yes.  But  do  you  think  he  could  sleep  when  he  was 
expecting  me?  You  don't  know  how  he  loves  me!  "  she 
added,  with  a  charming  smile  which  revealed  two  rows  of 
pearly-white  teeth. 

All  this  was  spoken  rapidly,  half  in  French,  half  in 
Italian,  for  Fedora,  in  her  Southern  vivacity,  borrowed 
from  either  of  the  two  languages  the  word  which  suited 
her  best. 

An  employe1  at  this  moment  interrupted  them,  asking 
them  to  come  and  point  out  their  luggage.  This  was  an 
affair  of  only  a  few  minutes,  and  then  Fedora  said: 

"What  shall  we  do  now?" 

"  Take  a  cab  and  go  to  your  husband." 

"But  suppose  he  passes  us  on  the  way?" 

"  We  shall  see  him,  or  at  all  events  they  will  tell  him 
here  that  we  have  left,  and  he  will  return." 

"Come,  then!  "  exclaimed  Fedora,  with  a  last  glance 
about  the  court  yard. 

The  cab  which  had  brought  the  ugly  man  was  on  the 
point  of  driving  away,  and  Marietta  hailed  it. 

"What  is  the  matter,  mia  cara?"  she  asked,  hearing 
Fedora  sigh  as  she  seated  herself  in  the  carriage. 

"I — I  had  thought  so  much  of  returning  with  him  to 
the  house  where  I  have  been  so  happy  since  my  marriage." 

"  But  you  are  going  to  find  him  there  in  a  few  min- 
utes, dear  mistress." 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  7 

"I  do  not  know;  I  am  afraid." 

"What  an  idea!  Do  you  fear  he  is  ill?  He  never  is. 
Besides,  you  had  a  letter  from  him  two  days  ago,  at 
Lyons." 

"I  can  not  help  it;  I  am  uneasy,"  returned  Fedora, 
"  This  carriage  is  so  slow,  we  shall  never  reach  there. 
"Why  has  the  coachman  taken  the  Boulevards  to  go  to  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix?     It  is  much  the  longest  way." 

"  He  takes  us  for  foreigners,"  answered  Marietta,  "  and 
desires  to  show  us  Paris  in  its  most  pleasing  aspect.  He 
is  right,  too;  look!  I  have  never  seen  the  Boulevards  so 
beautiful,  and  how  bright  the  sun  is!  We  might  almost 
fancy  ourselves  in  Italy." 

It  was  indeed  one  of  those  delicious  days  which  the 
dying  summer  sometimes  gives  us,  to  make  us  regret  it 
all  the  more. 

Our  two  travelers,  like  true  daughters  of  the  South, 
could  not  remain  insensible  to  the  charms  of  the  exquisite 
weather.  They  looked  with  all  their  eyes,  and  admired 
with  all  their  hearts.  Fedora  forgot  the  anxiety  she  had 
felt,  and  her  beautiful  face  no  longer  showed  any  trace 
of  uneasiness.  A  short  distance  alone  separated  her  from 
the  one  she  longed  to  see;  in  a  few  moments  she  would 
surprise  him  by  her  appearance.  She  was  glad  now  that 
he  had  not  come  to  meet  her. 

"  He  did  not  receive  my  letter,"  she  thought,  "  and  so 
does  not  expect  me.     How  happy  he  will  be!  " 

And  her  cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes  sparkled,  and  her  lips 
smiled  at  the  promenaders,  some  of  whom  paused  to  look 
after  her. 

Suddenly  the  carriage  left  the  Boulevards,  entered  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix  and  stopped  before  No.  6. 

Fedora's  first  movement  was  to  glance  up  to  the  win- 
dows of  the  entresol. 


8  fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  The  blinds  are  drawn  down,"  she  cried.  "  The  lazy 
fellow;  he  is  still  asleep." 

And  without  paying  any  attention  to  her  companion, 
but  leaving  her  to  settle  with  the  coachman  and  take  care 
of  the  luggage,  she  entered  the  court  yard,  passed  the 
concierge  without  speaking,  mounted  the  staircase,  and 
rang  the  bell  with  a  feverish  hand. 

A  few  seconds  passed,  and  there  was  no  answer. 

She  rang  again  and  listened. 

There  was  no  sound  from  within. 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  she  thought;  M  he  has  gone  to  meet  me, 
and  we  have  missed  him." 

She  descended  the  stairs  hurriedly  and  addressed  the 
concierge. 

"  Monsieur  has  gone  out  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  are  here,  Madame! "  exclaimed  the  concierge. 
"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  journey?  " 

"Yes,  very.     But  my  husband?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  Monsieur  this  morning." 

"  Didn't  he  speak  to  you  when  he  went  out?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  has  gone  out,  Madame." 

"  Then  why  doesn't  he  open  the  door?  " 

"  You  can  not  have  rung  loudly  enough,  Madame.  If 
you  wish  it,  I  will  go  up  with  you." 

"  Yes,  come." 

Fedora  ascended  again  with  the  concierge,  and  pulled 
the  bell  with  all  her  strength,  but  again  without  eliciting 
any  response. 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  the  concierge ;  "  Monsieur  ex- 
pected Madame,  for — " 

"Ah!  he  has  received  my  letter,  then?" 

"  Two  days  ago." 

"  He  is  evidently  at  the  coach  house,"  said  Marietta. 
"  If  you  like,  I  will  go  there." 


FEDORA,   IN  FACT,    WAS   A   GENOESE."      PAGE  4. 


IN  THE  RUB  DE  LA  PAIX.  9 

"  Yes,  do,"  responded  Fedora. 

A  cab  was  passing,  and  Marietta  took  it.  Fedora 
refused  the  offer  of  the  concierge  to  sit  down  in  his  room, 
but  walked  nervously  up  and  down  the  sidewalk,  glancing 
every  now  and  then  at  the  closed  windows.  She  saw 
that  the  inside  blinds  were  shut,  so  that  the  apartments 
must  be  in  complete  darkness.  Then  her  husband  could 
not  have  arisen.  As  soon  as  this  thought  struck  her, 
she  hastened  to  the  concierge  and  begged  him  to  force 
the  door.  The  concierge  went  to  fetch  a  locksmith.  In 
five  minutes  the  latter  arrived.  At  the  same  moment  a 
carriage  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  drew  up  before 
the  house,  and  Marietta  alighted. 

"Well?"  cried  Fedora. 

Marietta  responded  by  a  shake  of  the  head. 

Fedora  ascended  to  the  entresol  with  the  locksmith. 

"  You  will  have  a  hard  time  to  open  it,"  said  the  con- 
cierge, "  there  is  a  bolt  and  chain,  besides  the  lock." 

But,  to  his  great  astonishment,  the  bolt  was  not  drawn, 
and  the  door  was  quickly  opened. 

Fedora  rushed  in. 

She  crossed  the  antechamber,  the  dining  room  and  the 
salon;  everything  was  in  its  accustomed  order. 

She  entered  the  bedroom,  the  door  of  which  was  wide 
open. 

Suddenly  Marietta  heard  a  cry,  a  terrible  cry.  She 
ran  into  the  room. 

Fedora  was  lying  unconscious  in  the  middle  of  the 
chamber. 

Half  on  the  floor  and  half  on  the  bed  was  the  body 
of  a  man,  covered  with  blood. 

And  upon  a  leaf  of  an  open  memorandum  book,  were 
these  words,  written  in  blood: 

*'  Fedora,  avenge  me.     The  assassin  is — " 


10  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Death  had  arrested  the  hand  of  the  victim  at  the 
moment  he  was  about  to  trace  the  name  of  his  mur- 
derer. 

It  was  now  the  duty  of  justice  to  complete  the  sen- 
tence. 


II. 

One  of  the  first  questions  which  the  magistrates  ask  in 
such  a  case,  is  this:  What  was  the  motive  of  the  assas- 
sination?   Was  it  theft? 

The  response  appears  easy,  if  it  can  be  shown  that  the 
victim,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  had  near  him  or  upon 
his  person  valuables  which  can  not  be  found.  However, 
the  fact  that  these  valuables  have  disappeared  is  not  con- 
clusive proof.  Justice  can  not  ignore  that  theft  is  often  an 
expedient  designed  to  disguise  some  revenge,  and  to 
turn  aside  suspicion;  so  it  is  necessary  to  inquire  with 
the  greatest  care  into  the  antecedents,  the  life  and  the 
habits  of  the  murdered  man. 

Maurice  Vidal,  born  at  Nantes,  in  a  house  in  the  Rue 
de  Sully,  in  the  month  of  March,  1815,  was,  at  the  time  of 
his  death,  a  little  more  than  thirty-two  years  old.  He  had 
lived  in  Paris  for  about  twelve  years,  and  had  made  his  for- 
tune rapidly,  thanks  to  a  remarkable  insight  into  the  affairs 
of  the  Bourse,  and  above  all  to  his  wonderful  activity. 
After  remaining  for  a  few  months  as  clerk  to  a  stock  broker, 
and  becoming  initiated  into  the  practical  details  of  cer- 
tain financial  operations,  he  had  started  out  on  his  own 
account,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  had  established 
for  himself  an  excellent  business.  To  arrive  at  that  end, 
which  so  many  young  men  of  our  generation  have  use- 
lessly attempted,   required  infinite   care   and    incessant 


IN  THE  RITE  DE  LA  PAIX.  11 

labor.  Vidal  had  succeeded  in  solving  this  problem:  To 
remain  a  man  of  the  world,  to  go  into  society,  and  yet 
never  to  neglect  business. 

For  ten  years  he  had  been  a  prominent  figure  at  all 
balls  and  dinners.  He  would  lead  the  cotillon  till  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  at  the  house  of  some  banker  of 
the  Chaussee  d'Antin,  and  then  take  part  in  the  wild 
galop  which  finished  the  ball  of  some  celebrated  derni- 
mondaine.  Many  times,  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
his  friends  left  him  at  his  door,  a  little  the  worse  for 
wine  and  worn  out  with  fatigue;  but  at  nine  o'clock  he 
would  be  found  in  his  office,  fresh,  bright  and  keen,  ready 
to  receive  the  orders  of  his  customers. 

This  native  of  Nantes,  who  had  become  a  Parisian, 
admirably  understood  the  men  and  customs  of  his  day. 
He  knew  that  the  business  man  does  not  neglect  the 
opportunity  of  cracking  a  joke  in  the  intervals  of  his 
sales;  that  a  lawyer  willingly  interrupts  the  reading  up  of 
a  case  to  ask  about  the  last  ballet;  that  a  judge  is  glad  to 
hear  the  latest  anecdote,  and  the  minister  whose  doors 
are  closed  against  all  intruders,  is  often  visible  to  amus- 
ing people. 

He  knew,  also,  that  it  is  permissible  to  speak  of  busi- 
ness matters  at  an  opera-ball  or  in  the  boudoir  of  an 
actress;  that  it  is  easy  for  an  intelligent  fellow  to  obtain 
an  order  to  buy  or  sell  stock  between  two  glasses  of 
champagne;  and,  finally,  that  customers  fly  from  bores 
who  mingle  in  a  different  society  from  themselves,  and 
that  on  the  other  hand  they  seek  the  persons  who  share 
their  pleasures  while  they  make  good  speculations  for 
them. 

This  is  the  reason  of  many  catastrophes. 

How  is  it  possible  to  suspect  the  man  to  whom  your 
fortune  is  intrusted?     You  see  him  every  hour  of  the 


12  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

day:  in  the  morning  he  breakfasts  with  you  at  Bignon's; 
from  midday  till  three  o'clock  you  walk  arm-in-arm  with 
him  under  the  columns  of  the  Bourse;  at  five  o'clock  you 
meet  him  at  the  house  of  a  lady,  a  friend  to  you  both;  at 
seven  you  find  him  seated  opposite  to  you  at  the  Cafe 
Anglais,  and  in  the  evening  you  go  together  to  the  club, 
the  opera  or  the  theatre. 

And  during  the  whole  day  that  you  have  lived  the  same 
life,  his  good  humor  and  gayety  have  been  unfailing;  he 
has  told  you  of  his  good  luck  and  of  your  last  operations 
on  the  Bourse.  He  has  advised  you  to  sell  your  4£ 
bonds  and  to  quit  Cora;  he  has  related  to  you  the  last 
bon-mot,  but  at  the  same  time  he  has  given  you  excellent 
counsel  in  regard  to  your  investments. 

You  are  a  thousand  miles  from  suspecting  that  this 
amiable,  amusing,  well-bred  companion,  who  thinks,  he 
says,  of  building  a  house  in  the  Champs  Elysees  with  the 
profits  of  his  operations,  has  converted  during  the  day 
your  property  into  cash,  and  is  to  sail  that  very  evening 
for  Australia. 

But  Maurice  Vidal  merited  the  confidence  of  his  wealthy 
customers.  He  was  one  of  that  large  body  of  stockholders 
whose  habits  may  seem  eccentric,  whose  life  outside  busi- 
ness hours  may  appear  open  to  question,  but  who  in 
matters  of  business  are  thoroughly  trustworthy  and  straight- 
forward. If,  with  an  eye  to  his  own  interests,  he  thought 
he  ought  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  men  about  town, 
he  also  knew  how  to  make  many  friends  among  the  most 
respectable  class  of  the  community.  He  had  had  many 
chances  of  entering  the  Enclosure,  and  whenever  a  seat 
in  the  Bourse  was  vacant,  he  had  invariably  had  offered 
him  any  amount  of  money  he  might  have  need  of.  But 
he  had  always  refused,  under  the  pretext  that  he  wished 
to  keep  his  liberty. 


IN   THE  RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  13 

However,  one  day  he  lost  this  liberty,  to  which  he  was 
so  strongly  attached. 

It  was  suddenly  announced  that  he  had  been  married 
to  a  young  girl,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  at 
Genoa,  during  a  visit  he  had  paid  to  that  city  in  1846. 
And  as  every  one  was  astonished  that  he  should  select  a 
foreigner  for  his  wife,  when  he  was  in  a  position  to  marry 
advantageously  in  Paris,  he  made  the  following  little 
speech  to  his  friends  : 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said  to  them,  "  with  you  Parisians 
marriage  is  generally  considered  as  a  means  to  arrive  at 
an  end;  but  I,  who  am  only  a  Breton,  look  upon  it  as  the 
end  itself.  You  marry  a  woman  to  whom  you  are  almost 
indifferent,  in  order  that  her  dowry  or  her  connections 
may  serve  to  build  up  your  fortune;  but  I  choose  a 
woman  who  pleases  me,  in  order  that  she  may  aid  me  to 
spend  the  money  painfully  acquired  by  ten  years  of 
labor.  But,  in  the  luxurious  times  we  live  in,  instead  of 
enriching  you,  your  wife  very  likely  may  squander  her 
dowry  and  your  little  savings,  while  mine,  who  has  not 
breathed  the  heated  air  of  Paris  since  her  infancy,  will,  I 
think,  be  less  extravagant;  and  even  should  it  prove  the 
contrary,  I  shall  not  complain,  for  she  is  so  pretty.  I  see 
what  you  are  going  to  answer  me,  gentlemen:  'With 
such  ideas,  why  did  you  marry  at  all,  when  a  mistress 
would  have  done  as  well?'  Don't  deceive  yourselves;  it 
is  a  mistress  I  have  taken,  nothing  else,  and  I  hope  to  re- 
main all  my  life  the  lover  of  my  wife.  Only,  I  have  the 
deepest  respect  for  her;  I  desire  every  one  else  to  respect 
her;  I  think  of  the  children  we  may  have  some  day,  and  I 
have  asked  a  priest  to  bless  our  union." 

After  this  harangue  Maurice  Vidal  presented  his  wife 
to  many  of  his  intimate  friends;  he  said  to  them,  simply: 
"  See — I  adore  her,  and  she  loves  me." 


14  fedora:  ob,  the  tragedy 

And  his  cause  was  gained. 

In  fact,  never  was  a  marriage  contracted  under  more 
happy  auspioes.  Maurice  was  madly  in  love  with  Fedora, 
and  she  loved  him  with  that  Italian  furia,  of  which 
Parisians  have  only  a  feeble  idea. 

For  three  days  this  marriage  and  the  striking  beauty  of 
Madame  Vidal  were  the  topic  of  conversation  on  the 
Bourse.  Then,  as  nothing  happened  to  keep  alive  the 
excitement,  the  new  bridegroom  was  forgotten  and  only 
the  broker  was  remembered. 

But  occasionally  some  customer  of  Maitfifee's,  after 
having  transacted  his  business,  would  say:         ;  \ 

"  Well,  does  the  honeymoon  still  continue?" 

And  Maurice  would  answer: 

"  My  friend,  I  am  the  happiest  man  on  earth." 

This  happiness  lasted  a  whole  year,  and  it  perhaps 
would  have  lasted  always,  if  Fedora  had  not  received  a 
letter  which  called  her  to  Genoa.  Her  mother  was  at- 
tacked by  a  dangerous  illness  and  wished  to  see  her. 

Maurice  allowed  her  to  depart  with  Marietta,  a  servant, 
almost  a  friend,  who  had  brought  her  up,  and  whom  she 
desired  to  bring  from  Genoa  with  her  after  her  marriage. 

Why  did  he  not  accompany  her? 

The  departure  was  very  hurried,  and,  although  her  visit 
had  stretched  out  to  over  two  months,  she  did  not  expect 
at  first  to  be  gone  longer  than  a  week ;  and  so  it  was  fated 
that  Maurice  Vidal  should  remain  alone  in  Paris  at  the 
mercy  of  an  assassin. 

Informed  as  to  these  details  of  his  life,  the  magistrates 
were  not  long  in  coining  to  the  conclusion  that  Fedora's 
husband  had  been  the  victim  of  revenge. 

What  enemies  could  this  young  man,  whose  life  had 
been  devoted  for  ten  years  to  the  pleasures  of  society  and 
honorable  work,  have  made  ? 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  15 

He  had  done  harm  to  no  one,  compromised  no  one's  in- 
terest. His  frank  and  open  manners  had  won  all  hearts, 
and  although  he  was  of  a  rather  dictatorial  nature  and  was 
inclined  to  be  very  strict  in  regard  to  money  matters,  he 
knew  so  well  how  to  govern  his  temper  that  no  one  could 
recall  ever  having  had  a  quarrel  or  even  a  dispute  with 
him. 

Could  his  marriage  have  given  rise  to  feelings  of  jealousy 
or  envy? 

Justice,  which  neglects  no  detail,  wished  to  have  infor- 
mation on  this  subject.  But  during  his  life  as  a  bachelor, 
Maurice  was  never  known  to  have  had  any  serious  love 
affair.     His  friends  were  positive  on  this  point. 

Up  to  the  time  he  had  met  Fedora,  love  had  been  only 
a  distraction,  a  pastime  with  him.  In  a  word,  he  was 
known  to  be  one  of  those  young  nomads,  who  sometimes 
raise  a  corner  of  their  tent  to  give  hospitality  to  fair 
travelers,  but  who  obstinately  refuse  to  open  their  doors 
to  any  permanent  guest. 

As  for  Fedora,  with  the  exception  of  the  two  or  three 
intimate  friends  to  whom  Maurice  had  presented  her,  no 
one  knew  her.  When  he  married  her,  there  was  no  rival 
to  dispute  her  with  him.  She  had  left  Genoa  without 
causing  any  heart-break,  and  regretted  only  by  her  own 
family. 

All  things  taken  into  consideration,  therefore,  it  was 
only  possible  to  suppose  that  theft  was  the  motive  for  the 
murder. 

But  had  a  theft  been  committed?  We  can  best  answer 
that  question  by  publishing  the  different  documents  which 
relate  to  this  affair,  and  for  the  possession  of  which  we  owe 
our  thanks  to  one  of  the  leading  members  of  the  bar.  We 
shall  take  care,  however,  as  often  as  possible,  to  substitute 
for  the  official  reports,  whose  dryness  and  repetition  might 

B 


16  fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

weary  the  reader,  certain  confidential  notes,  which  are 
often  exchanged  between  magistrates  during  the  progress 
of  an  examination,  and  which  we  find  among  the  papers 
submitted  to  us. 


III. 


Confidential  Notes  attached  to  (he  Official  Report  of  the  Commissary 
of  Police  of  the  First  Arrondissement,  Section  of  the  Tuileries. 

Being  informed  to-day,  October  20th,  1847,  at  nine 
o'clock  a.  M.,  that  a  crime  had  been  committed  at  No.  6 
Rue  de  la  Paix,  we  hastened  to  the  place,  accompanied 
by  our  secretary,  Monsieur  Vibert,  and  Monsieur  Godin, 
a  police  officer,  who  was  in  our  office  at  the  time  the  news 
reached  us. 

When  we  arrived  at  No.  6  we  found  a  crowd  of  people, 
whom  the  police  could  not  succeed  in  dispersing.;  it  was 
with  great  difficulty  that  we  reached  the  door  of  the  house. 

Rumors  of  all  kinds,  contradictory  for  the  most  part, 
were  flying  about  from  group  to  group.  But  all  seemed 
to  be  agreed  upon  this  point,  that  the  victim  was  called 
Maurice  Vidal,  and  that  he  was  connected  with  the  Bourse. 

His  wife,  an  Italian  of  great  beauty,  they  said,  had 
reached  home  from  a  journey  that  morning;  she  appeared 
to  be  in  the  greatest  grief. 

Some  said  that  the  assassin  had  been  arrested;  others 
declared  that  no  one  knew  who  had  committed  the  crime. 

As  we  mounted  the  staircase  we  heard  the  following 
conversation : 

"It  was  she,  perhaps;  those  Italians  are  capable  of 
anything." 

"  But  they  say  she  worshiped  her  husband." 


IN  THE  RUE   DE  LA   PALX.  17 

"Bah!  she  may  have  seemed  to  do  so,  and  hated  him 
ail  the  same." 

"  Besides,  she  was  away;  she  only  returned  an  hour  ago." 

"  Well,  mightn't  she  have  had  an  accomplice,  who  did 
the  job  for  her?" 

When  we  reached  the  entresol,  the  policemen  met  us, 
and  showed  us  into  the  rooms  where  the  crime  was  com- 
mitted. 

We  gave  orders  to  clear  the  staircase,  close  the  outside 
door,  and  to  let  no  one  enter  the  house,  except  the  inmates 
or  the  authorities. 

Messengers  were  sent  at  the  same  time  by  us  to  the 
courts,  to  the  prefecture  of  police,  and  to  the  chief  of 
police. 

After  having  crossed  the  antechamber,  the  dining  room 
and  the  salon,  where  we  remarked  nothing  unusual,  and 
where  the  furniture  seemed  to  occupy  their  usual  places, 
we  entered  a  handsome  study. 

Two  women,  in  the  greatest  grief,  did  not  seem  to  notice 
our  entrance. 

One  of  them  appeared  to  be  the  maid  or  companion  of 
the  other.  She  was  kneeling  before  her  mistress,  holding 
her  hands,  and  we  heard  her  murmur  these  words  : 

"Courage,  courage,  dear  Fedora;  you  must  have  cour- 
age to  avenge  him." 

Suddenly,  the  one  whom  she  called  Fedora  rose  to  her 
feet  and  cried  out : 

"Yes!  Yes!  I  will  avenge  him!  I  swear  it!  " 

And  she  raised  her  hand,  as  if  calling  Heaven  to  wit- 
ness. 

The  police  officer,  M.  Godin,  whispered  in  my  ear: 
"The  sorrow  of  that  woman  must  be  sincere;  I  do  not 
believe  what  we  heard  as  we  came  up  stairs." 

That  was   also  my  opinion.      But   my   secretary,   M. 
2 


18  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Vibert,  who  has  many  times  given  me  proof  of  great 
perspicacity,  did  not  appear  to  share  our  impression.  He 
thought  the  sorrow  a  little  theatrical,  and  he  suspected 
the  lady  Fedora  of  playing  a  part. 

We  called  to  his  attention  that,  according  to  our  infor- 
mation, the  lady  in  question  was  an  Italian ;  the  people  of 
her  country  are  given  to  exaggeration,  and  it  was  wrong 
to  judge  her  as  we  would  judge  a  Parisian.  Besides,  the 
blow  which  had  struck  her  was  so  terrible  and  so  unex- 
pected that  her  grief  was  very  natural. 

M.  Vibert  was  not  entirely  convinced  by  our  words.  He 
continued  to  observe  Madame  Vidal  attentively. 

Meanwhile,  we  examined  the  room  we  were  in,  with 
great  care. 

The  girl  Marietta,  servant  or  companion  of  Madame 
Vidal,  assured  us  that  nothing  had  been  touched  by  either 
her  mistress  or  herself.  All  the  furniture  was  in  the  same 
place  when  the  t%vo  ladies  entered  the  study  half  an  hour 
before. 

The  result  of  our  examination  was  as  follows: 

1st.  The  two  doors  which  lead  from  the  study  into  the 
salon  and  the  bedroom  were  open  and  were  found  open. 
In  all  the  suite  of  apartments,  the  outside  door  alone  was 
closed,  but  was  not  bolted  on  the  inside.  It  must  be  sup- 
posed, then,  that  the  assassin  passed  through  the  rooms 
and  simply  closed  the  outside  door. 

2nd.  An  arm-chair  overturned  in  the  middle  of  the 
study,  different  objects  scattered  about,  and  a  candelabrum 
on  the  floor  are  sufficient  indications  that  the  first  attack 
took  place  in  this  study.  But  did  the  assassin  there  deal 
the  fatal  blow  to  his  victim,  who  afterwards  went  to  the 
bedroom?  Or  did  Maurice  Vidal,  after  defending  himseli 
in  the  study,  take  refuge  in  the  chamber,  where  the  mur- 
derer followed  and  wounded  him  mortally  ? 


IN  THE  RITE  DE  LA  PAIX.  19 

You  will  reach  the  last  supposition,  if  you  remark, 
that,  despite  a  minute  examination,  we  discovered  no 
traces  of  blood  in  the  study. 

Preoccupied  with  the  important  question  of  knowing 
if  a  theft  had  been  committed  after  the  murder,  we  then 
tried,  one  after  the  other,  the  drawers  of  the  desk. 

They  were  locked,  and  showed  no  trace  of  having  been 
forced.  One  drawer  alone,  the  middle  one,  was  half 
open,  the  key  was  in  the  lock,  and  a  sum  of  twenty 
louis  in  gold  met  our  eyes. 

Various  papers  were  in  this  drawer,  which  we  locked 
and  of  which  we  took  the  key. 

There  was  no  other  piece  of  furniture  in  the  room 
which  could  contain  money  or  valuables. 

As  we  were  about  to  cross  the  threshold  of  the  bed- 
chamber, Madame  Vidal,  who  up  to  this  time  had  been  re- 
strained by  the  maid  Marietta,  escaped  from  her  arms  and 
attempted  to  follow  us. 

We  implored  her  most  earnestly  to  remember  that  her 
presence  would  only  trouble  us  in  our  investigations,  and 
that  she  must,  in  her  own  interest,  leave  us  all  liberty  of 
action. 

She  listened  to  us  with  more  calmness  and  coolness 
than  we  hoped,  and,  without  replying,  sank  down  silently 
upon  the  sofa  she  had  just  left.  This  woman  appears  to 
be  endowed  with  great  energy;  instead  of  impeding  justice 
she  may  be  able  to  lend  it  great  aid. 

Monsieur  Vibert  still  continued  to  watch  her,  but  he 
seemed  now  to  have  changed  his  opinion  in  regard  to  her. 

This  is  the  exact  state  in  which  we  found  the  bedroom. 
On  the  left,  as  we  entered,  was  a  little  rosewood  bureau, 
from  which  nothing  in  particular  was  to  be  discovered. 
Two  steps  from  there,  a  large  arm-chair,  covered  with 
blood. 


20  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Traces  of  blood  were  also  to  be  seen  upon  the  carpet  in 
front  of  the  chair.  This  was  doubtless  the  place  where 
the  murdered  man  was  struck;  but  he  did  not  die  at  once, 
as  he  dragged  himself  away  to  call  for  help. 

There  are  spots  of  blood  all  along  the  floor  to  the  win- 
dow, which  opens  upon  the  court,  and  this  indicates  in  the 
most  significant  manner  Maurice  Vidal's  proceedings. 

When  he  reached  the  window,  he  grasped  one  of  the 
curtains  and  tried  to  raise  himself  up,  but  could  not;  then 
he  must  have  tried  to  break  one  of  the  panes,  which  bears 
the  marks  of  his  fingers,  but  his  strength  was  unequal  to  it. 

It  was  probably  at  this  moment  that  he  felt  he  was 
hopelessly  lost,  and  had  no  longer  but  one  thought — 
vengeance  upon  his  murderer. 

He  then  sought  for  something  to  write  with,  and  per- 
ceiving his  memorandum  book  upon  a  table  near  the  bed, 
he  dragged  himself  toward  it.  It  is  easy  to  follow  his 
actions. 

His  hand  first  rested  upon  the  feet  of  the  table,  then 
rose  little  by  little,  left  a  bloody  mark  upon  a  glass  of 
water  and  finally  reached  the  memorandum  book  it  was 
seeking. 

Then  he  wrote  by  the  light  of  a  candle  placed  upon  the 
table.  But  his  eyes  grew  dim.  It  seemed  to  him,  doubt- 
less, that  the  pencil  made  no  mark,  and  after  having 
dipped  it  in  the  blood  which  flowed  from  his  wound,  he 
traced  these  words:  "  Fedora,  avenge  me.  The  assassin 
is—" 

He  could  not  continue.  The  book  and  pencil  fell  from 
his  hands.  He  made  one  last  effort,  raised  himself  and 
tried  to  fight  against  death. 

But  it  was  all  in  vain;  his  body  fell  over  upon  the  bed 
in  the  position  in  which  we  found  him. 

Such,  Monsieur,  are  the  observations  I  have  been  able 


m  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  21 

to  make  and  which  I  have  the  honor  to  transmit  to  you, 
according  to  your  orders.  I  sent,  yesterday,  my  official 
report  to  the  court. 

Here  follows  the  signature. 

From  the  report  of  a  physician  delegated  by  tlie  public  ministry  to 
examine  the  murdered  man,  it  results  that : 

1st.     Maurice  Vidal  was  struck  with  a  pointed  weapon. 

2nd.  One  of  those  instruments  called  a  dagger-knife 
and  found  under  a  piece  of  furniture  in  the  study,  where 
the  murderer  must  have  thrown  it  after  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  crime,  exactly  fits  into  the  wound. 

3rd.  The  blow  was  a  mortal  one.  However,  on  account 
of  the  narrowness  of  the  wound,  the  victim  was  able  to 
live  for  some  moments,  and  finally  succumbed  to  internal 
hemorrhage. 

4th.  There  is  no  other  wound  upon  Maurice  Vidal's 
body.  One  blow  alone  was  sufficient,  but  it  must  have 
been  dealt  by  a  very  strong  arm,  or  by  a  person  whose 
anger  doubled  his  strength;  the  knife  is  very  dull,  and  it 
must  have  taken  a  violent  blow  to  make  it  penetrate  so 
far  into  the  body. 

5th.  Death,  judging  from  the  rigidity  of  the  body  when 
it  was  examined  (thirty-five  minutes  past  nine  A.  M.),  must 
have  taken  place  eleven  or  twelve  hours  before. 

6th.  There  is  no  possible  reason  for  the  supposition 
that  Maurice  Vidal  committed  suicide,  and  attempted  to 
cover  it  up  by  the  words  written  upon  the  memorandum 
book,  for  the  blow  was  struck  downward,  either  by  a 
person  taller  than  the  murdered  man,  or  at  the  moment 
when  the  latter  was  sitting  down. 

To  strike  himself,  Maurice  Vidal  would  have  been  forced 
to  strike  a  horizontal  or  upward  blow. 

Here  follows  the  signature  of  the  physician. 


22  FEDORA  :   OE,  THE  TRAGEDY 


IV. 

Extract  from  the  Examination  of  the  Concierge  of  No.  6  Rue  de  la 
Paix,  by  the  Examining  Magistrate,  upon  the  latter' 8  arrival  at 
the  Apartment  where  the  Crime  was  committed. 

Q.     When  did  you  know  of  the  murder  in  question? 

A     An  hour  ago. 

Q.  Did  you  remark  anything  particular  last  evening, 
or  during  the  night? 

A.     No,  Monsieur. 

Q.  The  window  of  Maurice  Vidal's  chamber  opens 
upon  the  court;  your  lodge  is  just  opposite;  it  seems 
strange  that  you  should  have  heard  no  cry. 

A.  I  had  company  all  the  evening;  my  brother-in-law, 
a  clerk  at  the  offices  of  the  ministry  of  finances,  the 
concierge  of  No.  41  Boulevard  des  Capucines,  and  a 
cousin  of  my  wife's.  We  had  supper  and  played  cards 
till  eleven  o'clock,  but  we  heard  nothing. 

Q.     At  what  time  did  M.  Maurice  Vidal  come  in? 

A.     At  half-past  seven,  immediately  after  his  dinner. 

Q.     Did  you  speak  to  him? 

A.  Yes,  Monsieur;  I  asked  him  if  he  wanted  anything 
of  me.  But  he  said  no,  that  he  was  going  to  write  two 
or  three  letters,  and  that  he  should  go  to  bed  early,  so  as 
to  be  up  the  next  morning  to  meet  the  diligence  from 
Marseilles.  "  Shall  I  wake  you,  Monsieur?"  I  asked.  "  It 
is  not  necessary,"  he  answered,  "  I  shall  wake  myself,  if 
indeed  I  sleep  at  all." 

Q.  You  have  had  charge  of  M.  Vidal's  apartments  for 
some  days,  have  you  not? 

A.  Yes,  Monsieur;  I  went  up  every  morning  at  ten 
o'clock  to  take  his  orders.  Then  I  did  not  see  nim  again 
till  he  returned  in  the  evening. 


IN  THE   RUE   DE   LA   PAIX.  23 

Q.     Did  any  one  come  in  the  morning  to  see  him? 

A.  Two  or  three  friends,  always  the  same;  they  ap- 
peared in  a  great  hurry,  chatted  for  a  moment  of  matters 
of  the  Bourse,  and  soon  went  away. 

Q.  You  have  not  noticed  lately  any  stranger  with  M. 
Vidal? 

A.  Oh,  pardon  me,  Monsieur;  there  came,  day  before 
yesterday,  about  five  o'clock,  a  person  whom  I  never  saw 
before.  He  was  a  tall,  light-haired  young  man,  very 
handsome  and  very  elegantly  dressed,  and  with  a  rather 
tired  look.  When  he  learned  that  Monsieur  Vidal  had 
gone  out  and  would  not  probably  return,  he  appeared 
very  much  annoyed,  and  told  me  that  he  would  return  the 
next  morning. 

Q.     Did  he  do  so? 

A.     No,  Monsieur. 

Q.     You  are  certain  of  that? 

A.  Yes,  Monsieur;  I  even  remarked  it  to  M.  Vidal, 
who  answered:  "Oh!  I  don't  want  to  see  him." 

Q.  You  must  have  known  his  name  then  and  told  it 
to  M.  Vidal,  for  him  to  have  made  that  response? 

A.  No,  Monsieur,  but  I  described  him  to  M.  Vidal, 
and  he  knew  him  at  once. 

Q.  Are  you  certain  that  this  person  did  not  return 
yesterday  evening? 

A.     I  did  not  see  him. 

Q.  If  you  should  meet  him,  would  you  recognize  him 
without  difficulty? 

A.     Without  the  slightest  difficulty. 

Q.  Have  you  examined  the  dagger-knife  found  in  this 
apartment,  and  which  was  evidently  used  to  commit  the 
crime? 

A.  Yes,  Monsieur;  it  was  I  myself  who  perceived  it 
And  called  the  commissary's  attention  to  it. 


94  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Q.     This  dagger  did  not  belong  probably  to  M.  Vidal? 

A.  On  the  contrary,  Monsieur,  it  was  always  upon  his 
desk  and  he  used  it  sometimes  for  a  paper  knife. 

Q.  Reflect  carefully  on  what  you  are  saying.  This 
detail  is  of  great  importance. 

A.  Oh,  I  am  certain  I  am  not  mistaken,  Monsieur. 
Besides,  Madame  Vidal,  Mademoiselle  Marietta  and  all 
M.  Vidal's  friends  know  that  knife. 

Confidential  Notes  submitted  by  the  Commissary  of  Police  of  the 
Bourse. 

At  the  moment  of  his  death,  Maurice  Vidal  could  not 
have  had  valuables  of  importance  in  his  apartments.  He 
had  carried  the  previous  evening  thirty  thousand  francs, 
the  amount  of  his  savings  and  of  his  recent  commissions, 

to  M.  R ,  a  stock  broker,  and  had  ordered  him  to  buy 

some  stock  in  his  wife's  name. 

As  for  the  bonds  which  had  been  confided  to  him  by 
his  customers,  either  to  be  sold  or  transferred,  it  is  well 
known  that  it  was  M.  Vidal's  custom  to  deposit  them  at 

the  bank  or  with  M.  R ,  who  is  at  this  moment  in 

possession  of  some  railway  bonds  given  to  him  by  M. 
Vidal.  M.  Vidal  had  only  a  small  number  of  customers, 
all  of  whom  had  dealt  with  him  for  a  long  time,  and  he 
rarely  accepted  new  ones.  His  reason  for  not  doing  so  is 
generally  attributed  to  an  important  loss  which  he  expe- 
rienced in  1845  from  a  M.  Blondeau,  who  left  for  America 
at  the  moment  he  was  called  upon  to  pay  a  large  sum  of 
money. 

Another  person,  known  on  the  Bourse  as  Albert  Savari 
de  Montbris6,  is  said  to  have  owed  M.  Vidal  for  three 
years  a  sum  of  about  fifty  thousand  francs.  This  debt  was 
the  cause  last  year  of  a  regrettable  scene. 

M.  Vidal,  suddenly  perceiving  his  debtor  on  'Change, 


IN  THE  RtTE  DE  LA  t>AIX.  25 

marched  straight  up  to  him  and  said :  "  Monsieur,  when 
a  man  does  not  pay  his  losses  and  disappears  on  settling 
day,  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  show  himself  here." 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  Savari,  with  effrontery,  "  I  am  not 
in  the  habit  of  being  dictated  to." 

"  Well,  you  shall  be  dictated  to  to-day;  I  am  going  to 
kick  you  out,  and  I  shall  see  that  you  are  forbidden  to 
enter  the  Bourse  in  the  future." 

The  deed  would  perhaps  have  followed  the  threat,  de- 
spite the  size  and  strength  of  M.  Vidal's  adversary,  but 
several  persons  interfered. 

The  result  of  this  encounter  was  that  M.  Savari  was 
obliged  to  appear  the  following  day  at  the  Bourse  and 
give  his  note  for  fifty  thousand  francs,  which  must  have 
fallen  due  during  the  present  month. 

It  would  seem,  moreover,  that  this  note  has  never  been 
discounted  and  that  M.  Vidal  kept  it  at  home.  "  I  do 
not  know  whether  it  will  be  paid  or  not,"  he  said  recently 
to  M.  de  Rastain,  one  of  his  friends,  who  lives  at  No.  14 
Rue  Taitbout  and  from  whom  we  have  this  information. 
"  If  I  sue  him,  I  shall  probably  lose  my  case,  as  the  law 
does  not  recognize  debts  ox  the  Bourse,  but  I  intend  to 
give  myself  the  satisfaction  of  bringing  M.  Savari  before 
the  courts.  His  trickery  and  insolence  have  disgusted 
me.  Many  people  have  caused  me  to  lose  money,  but  I 
have  taken  into  consideration  their  ill  luck,  and  so  far 
from  being  angry  with  them,  I  have  often  done  them 
favors.  M.  Savari's  case  is  different,"  he  added,  with 
great  bitterness,  "  and  I  await  impatiently  the  moment 
when  I  can  tell  him  all  that  I  think  of  him." 

Such  is  the  information  obtained  up  to  the  pres«nt  mo- 
ment. If  anything  new  turns  up,  I  shall  hasten  to  inform 
you  of  it.  There  is  much  sorrow  manifested  on  the  Bourse 
at  M.  Vidal's  death;  he  was  greatly  liked  and  respected j 


26  fedora:  or,  tub  tragedy 

the  whole  topic  of  conversation  is  the  tragedy  in  the  Rue 

de  la  Paix. 

******* 

While  these  different  reports  were  being  prepared  and 
sent  to  the  public  prosecutor,  Fedora  Vidal  was  a  prey  to 
the  greatest  grief. 

She  had  been  cast  down,  in  one  instant,  from  the  high- 
est happiness  to  the  deepest  and  most  hopeless  misery. 
She  had  arrived  home  after  a  long  absence,  overjoyed  at 
the  thought  of  seeing  again  the  one  she  loved,  full  of 
happiness,  feverish  with  impatience;  and  suddenly,  with- 
out preparation,  without  any  warning,  she  found  death  in 
her  house,  crime  at  her  fireside.  Those  arms  which  she 
expected  would  embrace  her,  hung  inert  and  cold;  that 
heart  which  should  have  pressed  against  her  own,  beat  no 
longer;  those  lips  which  should  have  sought  hers,  were 
pale  and  icy. 

A  serious  illness  attacks  a  person  who  is  dear  to  you; 
you  hasten  to  him,  you  give  him  your  tenderest  care,  you 
surround  him  with  your  affection,  you  love  him  all  the 
more  on  account  of  the  short  time  he  has  to  live,  and  you 
give  him  your  whole  heart.  He  grows  worse  and  you 
press  nearer  his  bedside,  you  ask  for  his  last  wishes,  you 
seek  to  satisfy  any  desire  he  may  have;  his  last  thought 
is  for  you,  for  you  also  his  last  word  and  his  last  smile. 
When  he  is  no  more,  you  live  on  those  last  days,  and  the 
memories  they  have  left  you,  all  cruel  as  they  are,  aid  you 
to  suffer,  perhaps,  with  more  courage  and  resignation. 
But  to  be  struck,  as  was  Fedora  Vidal,  so  unexpectedly; 
not  to  have  the  consolation  of  receiving  the  last  word,  the 
last  embrace,  the  last  look;  to  have  quitted  a  man  full  of 
health,  strength  and  love,  and  to  find  only  a  dead  body, 
is  frightful !  And  near  her,  no  friend,  no  relation,  only 
Marietta!     For  Fedora  was  a  stranger  in  Paris,  and  given 


m  THE   RUE   DE  LA   PAIX.  £7 

Up  entirely  to  her  love,  in  the  egoism  of  her  passion,  she 
had  never  thought  of  making  friends.  If  she  could  have 
wept  and  prayed  near  that  body,  which  was  now  her  all ! 
But  no,  even  that  body  does  not  belong  to  her,  it  belongs 
to  justice.  It  is  the  mission  of  justice  to  watch  it,  to  ex- 
amine it,  to  order  an  autopsy.  Justice  replaces  relations, 
the  widow,  the  mother,  for  it  represents  more  than  the 
family;  it  represents  society  outraged  by  a  crime. 

This  crime,  despite  the  mystery  which  surrounds  it,  and 
which  we  have  not  yet  penetrated,  can  not  remain  unpun- 
ished.    But  what  steps  will  justice  take  to  attain  its  end  ? 


V. 

Two  important  letters,  for  they  will  serve  to  make 
known  one  of  our  principal  characters,  are  among  the 
papers  which  have  reference  to  this  affair.  They  are  a 
little  yellowed  by  time.  The  first  is  written  upon  cheap, 
unpretentious  paper.  It  is  scrawled,  rather  than  written. 
It  is  plain  that  the  hand  which  traced  those  characters 
had  no  time  to  lose.  The  second  letter  in  no  respect  re- 
sembles the  first;  it  is  as  aristocratic  as  the  other  is  ple- 
beian. The  paper  is  thick  and  glossy,  and  bears  a  crest. 
It  is  defaced  with  neither  erasures  nor  interlineations; 
there  are  not  fifty  words  on  the  page.  The  writing  is  long 
and  delicate,  with  a  certain  satisfied  air  about  it.  It  is 
not  in  the  English  style,  nor  is  it  a  round  hand;  it  is 
neither  too  regular  nor  too  careless;  it  is  simply  the  hand 
of  a  man  for  whom  correspondence  has  a  certain  charm, 
and  who  his  no  other  distraction. 

We  think  we  ought  to  make  the  reader  acquainted  with 
the  interesting  contents  of  these  two  letters. 


28  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Monsieur  Vibert,  Secretary  of  the  Commissariat  of  Police  of  the 
First  Arrondissement,  Section  of  the  Tuileries,  to  Monsieur  le 
Marquis  de  X ,  Peer  of  France. 

Monsieur  le  Marquis:  I  owe  everything  to  you:  it  is 
you  who,  in  remembrance  of  certain  services  once  ren- 
dered your  family  by  my  father,  took  care  of  my  child- 
hood, and  had  me  educated  at  one  of  our  best  religious 
establishments.  I  ought,  in  gratitude  for  all  your  kind- 
ness, to  have  followed  the  career  you  desired  for  me.  I 
should  to-day,  thanks  to  your  influence  and  never- varying 
goodness,  have  been  vicar  in  some  good  parish  or  cure  in 
a  quiet  little  village.  But  I  had  a  vocation,  an  irresistible 
vocation,  which,  in  your  paternal  good  will,  you  attempted 
to  combat — but  uselessly,  as  I  acknowledge  to  my  great 
shame. 

Whence  comes  this  vocation  ?  I  have  often  questioned 
myself  on  this  subject,  and  in  vain.  It  is  easily  under- 
stood when  a  young  man  feels  himself  drawn  toward 
painting,  writing  or  speaking;  he  may  become  an  orator, 
an  author  or  an  artist,  and  acquire  at  the  same  time  fame 
and  fortune.  But  to  desire,  like  me,  but  one  thing  in  the 
world,  to  have  but  one  end,  namely,  to  become  acquainted 
with  ciiminal  matters  and  police  business,  is  at  least 
peculiar,  I  acknowledge.  Such  was,  however,  the  sole 
dream  of  my  life,  and  to-day  when  this  dream  has  become 
a  reality,  I  am  forced  to  confess  that  I  regret  none  of 
the  careers  which  it  would  have  been  easy  for  me  to 
follow.     I  look  about  me,  and  I  see  nothing  to  envy. 

Does  this  vocation  come,  not  from  some  moral  peculi- 
arity, as  would  seem  at  first,  but  from  a  physical  peculiar- 
ity? As  when  a  tall,  strong,  broad-shouldered  man  of 
sanguine  temperament  is  filled  with  a  desire  to  become  a 
soldier,  have  I  also  in  my  turn  been  drawn  toward  the 
police,  because  my  figure  is  short  and  slightly  crooked, 


IN  THE   RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  29 

my  temperament  bilious,  and  my  eyes  so  bad  that  I  am 
obliged  to  wear  blue  glasses? 

There  is  evidently  herein  matter  for  analysts  to  reflect 
upon,  and  I  offer  them  as  a  subject  my  lean  but  sinewy 
person. 

However,  this  vocation  exists,  Monsieur  le  Marquis, 
and  do  not  think  that  it  has  as  a  basis  a  praiseworthy 
sentiment;  that  it  has  its  source,  for  example,  in  a  desire 
to  be  useful  to  my  country.  No.  To  you,  Monsieur  le 
Marquis,  who,  as  you  have  told  me,  make  a  collection  of 
all  reports  and  cases  of  moral  depravities,  who  are  glad 
to  encounter  them  and  to  laugh  at  the  expense  of  our 
age,  I  do  not  fear  to  confess  that,  when  I  perform  my 
police  duties,  the  interest  of  individuals,  the  interest  of 
the  government,  the  interest  of  my  country  never  pre- 
occupy me.     I  work  for  art  and  my  personal  satisfaction. 

Ah!  how  many  rivals  I  should  have  in  my  calling  if  it 
were  known  what  joy  it  is  to  penetrate,  as  I  do,  into  the 
life  of  others! 

Remember,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  that  my  physical  de- 
fects have  prevented  me  from  living  up  to  the  present  time 
on  my  own  account;  that  I  have  had  a  thousand  unsatis- 
fied desires,  a  multitude  of  longings  that  were  impossible 
of  fulfillment.  Well,  I  solace  myself  for  my  forced  in- 
action, by  watching  others  live,  by  living  their  life.  I 
busy  myself  with  their  affairs,  I  share  their  sentiments,  I 
rejoice  with  them,  I  suffer  with  them.  Then,  what  delight- 
ful consolation  the  public  is  so  obliging  as  to  bring  to  me. 
When,  extended  in  the  arm-chair  of  the  commissary  of 
police,  I  fall  into  a  dream  of  the  joys  of  the  domestic 
hearth,  of  the  sanctity  of  marriage,  of  conjugal  love, 
which  alas!  I  shall  never  know,  suddenly  a  husband  rushes 
into  my  office,  and  asks  me  excitedly  to  come  with  him 
and  surprise  his  wife  with  her  lover.     Again,  when  I  sigh 


SO  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

for  the  happiness  of  having  children,  a  father  comes  to 
beg  me  to  arrest  his  son  who  has  stolen  from  him,  and 
is  ruining  him,  or  to  pursue  his  daughter  who  has  eloped 
with  an  actor. 

And  then  I  clap  my  hands,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  and 
cry:  "  Vibert,  thank  heaven  for  your  little  infirmities;  if 
you  were  constituted  like  every  one  else,  you  would  wish 
to  live  like  every  one  else,  and  you  would  suffer  for  it." 

These,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  are  the  principal  reasons 
which  make  of  me  one  of  the  oddest  employes  which  the 
government  possesses;  an  employe  who  loves  his  position, 
who  is  content  with  his  lot  (contentus  sud  sorte),  and 
who  does  not  grind  his  teeth  at  his  chiefs  and  the  state. 
Such  a  case  has  never  been  heard  of  before,  and  I  hope 
after  my  death  a  compartment  will  be  reserved  for  me  in 
one  of  the  museums,  with  this  placard:  A  Satisfied  Em- 
ploye (species  extinct).  "  But,  Vibert,"  you  say,  "  why 
this^Iong- winded  discourse?  It  is  only  justice  to  say, 
that  you  never  write  me  except  to  ask  for  something; 
what  can  you  have  to  ask  of  me,  since  you  are  satis- 
fied?" 

Now,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  I  have  come  to  the  point 
by  a  roundabout  way,  as  is  proper  for  an  officer  of  the 
police.  Yes,  satisfied  as  I  am,  you  have  guessed  it,  my 
dear  protector,  I  want  something;  but  it  is  not  advance- 
ment, nor  increase  of  salary;  it  is  simply  a  change  I  want; 
I  would  like  for  a  time  to  pass  from  the  sitting  police, 
if  I  may  make  use  of  such  an  expression,  to  the  active 
police.  Instead  of  listening  to  reports  of  agents  in  and 
out  of  uniform,  of  open  and  secret  agents,  I  would  like 
to  be  charged,  in  my  turn,  with  making  reports. 

Imagine  me-  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  stepping  out  of  my 
house  some  morning  entirely  transformed,  my  spectacles 
changed  for  an  eyeglass,  wearing  an  imperial,  and  with 


IN  THE  EUE   DE   LA   PAIX.  31 

heels  which  increase  my  height  two  inches;  in  my  hand 
a  sword  cane,  and  in  my  pocket,  snugly  reposing,  one  or 
two  warrants  and  a  pair  of  handcuffs.  In  my  button  hole 
a  foreign  decoration,  blue,  green,  yellow,  or  pink,  accord- 
ing to  my  humor  or  my  taste;  for  you  are  aware,  Monsieur 
le  Marquis,  that  the  agents  of  the  secret  police,  for  the 
purpose  of  concealing  their  identity,  confer  upon  them- 
selves a  host  of  honorary  distinctions.  Then,  transformed 
in  this  way,  I  put  myself  on  the  track  of  the  criminals 
who  have  been  pointed  out  to  me;  I  run,  I  creep,  I  fall 
down,  I  jump  into  carriages,  I  leap  up  behind  them,  I 
travel  ten  leagues  or  I  remain  twelve  hours  in  the  same 
place  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon  a  closed  door.  Ah!  what 
incomparable  happiness! 

I  have  up  to  this  point  spoken  only  of  ordinary  enjoy- 
ments, of  every  day  affairs;  swindlers,  thieves,  refugees 
from  justice,  commonplace  malefactors.  But  suppose  I 
should  have  to  do  with  some  terrible  enemy  of  society. 
Then  I  arm  myself  to  the  teeth,  I  rush  upon  the  enemy, 
I  expose  my  life,  I  strike  and  am  struck;  or  I  play  the 
fox,  I  manoeuvre,  I  make  the  assault  by  stratagem,  and  I 
come  out  victorious.  Yes,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  it  must  be 
a  great  satisfaction  to  be  able  to  say:  "  It  is  by  my  work  that 
that  miserable  assassin  was  discovered;  it  is  I  who  have 
avenged  society  outraged  by  him;  without  me  he  would 
still  be  at  large  and  able  to  do  injury.  The  gendarmes 
and  policemen  lent  me  assistance,  I  acknowledge  it;  the 
examining  magistrate  was  most  skillful,  the  prosecut- 
ing attorney  was  more  eloquent  than  his  opponent;  the 
judge,  instead  of  summing  up  in  a  few  words,  made  a 
strong  speech;  the  jury  did  not  hesitate  to  condemn;  the 
court  of  appeals  confirmed  the  sentence;  the  petition  for 
pardon  was  rejected;  the  executioner  performed  his  terri- 
ble duty  with  firmness;  in  short,  every  one  did  his  duty. 


32  fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

But  it  was  I  who  traced  out  that  duty.  It  was  I  who 
prepared  the  accusation  and  the  scaffold." 

If  I  am  thus  excited,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  over  some 
imaginary  criminal,  judge  of  my  zeal  when  there  is  some 
particular  case,  a  real  subject.  Ah!  my  eyes  sparkle,  my 
heart  beats  quicker,  my  hand  thumps  the  commissary's 
leathern  arm-chair. 

I  have  a  case,  a  superb  case,  a  case  which  occupies  the 
attention  at  this  moment  of  Paris,  France,  Europe  itself; 
I  mean  the  tragedy  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  "  What!  you 
know  the  murderer?  "  you  exclaim,  Monsieur  le  Marquis. 
No,  I  do  not  know  him;  but  this  tragedy  interests  me, 
excites  me,  and  something  tells  me  that  I  alone  can  place 
justice  upon  the  tracks  of  this  mysterious  assassin. 

And  to  think  that  with  two  words  from  you,  two  words 
written  to  the  prefect  of  police,  I  shall  quit  the  Rue  St. 
Honore,  all  necessary  aid  will  be  given  me,  and  I  shall 
begin  the  campaign  and  win  the  fight! 

Will  you  write  those  two  words,  my  dear  protector? 
Will  you?  It  is  not  only  to  punish  a  great  criminal,  but 
to  avenge  a  woman.  A  woman!  Oh!  if  you  only  knew 
her!  The  purest,  the  most  charming,  the  most  beautiful 
of  women!  And  I  dared  to  suspect  her,  her!  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself  for  having  had  such  a  thought  until 
I  can  say  to  her:  "  Madame,  here  is  your  husband's  mur- 
derer.    I  deliver  him  up  to  you!  " 

Please  to  excuse  this  long  letter,  Monsieur  le  Marquis, 
and  continue  to  show  me  your  usual  kindness. 

Response  of  the  Marquis  de  X ,  Peer  of  France,  to  Monsieur 

Vibert. 

Paris,  October  22, 1847. 
Upon  my  word,  my  dear  boy,  your  letter  did  not  anger 
me;  on   the  contrary,  I  was  delighted.     There  you  are, 


IN  THE   RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  33 

morally  broken  down,  as  I  warned  you.  The  immortal 
principles  of  '89,  the  rights  of  man,  the  overthrow  of 
monarchies,  could  have  no  other  result.  Like  all  the  men 
of  your  generation,  who  have  nothing  to  rely  upon,  no 
solid  faith,  you  are  corrupt  to  the  marrow  of  your  bones. 

Ah!  I  brought  you  up  as  honestly  as  possible,  I  had 
instilled  into  you  excellent  principles,  I  destined  you  for 
a  notary  or  a  priest,  and  one  fine  day  your  sole  ambition 
is  to  become  an  agent  of  police. 

But  a  truce  to  sentiment;  I  am  going  to  tell  you  the 
truth;  what  fascinates  you  in  the  new  duties  you  desire 
to  perform  is  to  live  outside  of  society,  to  be  in  contact 
with  all  vice  and  all  corruption,  to  share  the  pleasures  of 
the  lawless  people  you  are  charged  with  watching,  and 
to  become  familiar  with  their  libertine  manners.  In  my 
time,  Monsieur,  those  who  had  a  taste  for  debauchery 
went  about  it  boldly, in  the  face  of  all.  But  your  genera- 
tion has  not  even  the  courage  of  its  vices;  it  wears  the 
mask  of  virtue;  it  does  not  even  call  persons  and  things 
by  their  true  names. 

But,  good  Heavens!  "Where  am  I  straying  to?  I  am 
preaching  a  sermon.  Have  I  any  right  to  correct  you  at 
all?  All's  well  that  ends  well,  and  you  will  end,  I  hope, 
by  falling  from  vice  to  vice,  from  depravity  to  depravity, 
and  by  being  punished  for  your  revolutionary  baseness. 

Of  course  I  am  speaking  in  general.  Against  you 
personally,  Vibert,  I  am  not  angry;  you  belong  to  your 
age,  that's  all.  It  is  not  your  fault  if  your  ancestors  over- 
threw kings,  and  if  in  your  plebeian  veins  there  is  some 
old  Jacobin  blood.  I  am  even  pleased  with  your  frank- 
ness; you  are  less  hypocritical  than  the  others,  you  do 
not  try  to  hide  your  faults.  So  I  have  been  willing  to 
grant  what  you  desire.  I  have  seen  the  prefect  of  police, 
and  have  praised  your  zeal;  he  will  see  you  to-morrow, 

3 


34  fedora:  oe,  the  tragedy 

and  he  authorizes  you  to  leave  your  place  in  the  sitting 
police,  as  you  call  it. 

Now,  don't  thank  me;  I  don't  like  that.  I  do  not 
believe  in  the  gratitude  of  the  people,  nor  of  individuals. 
But  if,  in  your  own  interest,  you  desire  to  be  agreeable  to 
me,  keep  me  posted  as  to  this  mysterious  affair,  and  see 
that  I  am  informed,  before  every  one  else,  of  every 
movement  in  it.  Great  crimes  have  always  preceded 
revolutions,  and  perhaps  in  1848 — 

By  the  way,  didn't  you  say  that  a  pretty  woman  was 
mixed  up  in  this  crime  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix?  Another 
reason  for  letting  me  know  all  that  happens.  Despite 
my  seventy-six  years,  I  still  think  that  the  best  thing  in 
humanity  is  woman. 

Good  luck  to  you!  Go  to  work  and  try  to  unearth 
the  mystery,     I  await  your  report. 


VI. 

For  some  time  after  the  crime  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix, 
every  newspaper,  pretending  to  be  well  informed,  printed 
all  sorts  of  information,  contradicted  the  next  day  in 
another  issue. 

One  morning  it  was  announced  that  Fedora  Vidal  had 
committed  suicide,  and  the  same  evening  she  was  resus- 
citated. The  following  day  the  murderer  had  been  dis- 
covered and  had  made  a  confession.  His  trial  was  to 
come  off  at  the  next  assizes. 

The  journalists  attached  to  the  papers  arrested  in  this 
way  a  dozen  persons  a  week.  Some  of  these  made  angry 
denials  and  the  statements  were  withdrawn.  Others  were 
silent  because  they  did  not  exist,  and  their  inventors  con- 


IN   THE  RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  35 

tinued  to  charge  them  with  iniquities  for  the  satisfaction 
of  Parisian  curiosity. 

However,  the  papers  soon  had  to  acknowledge  that  the 
police  were  greatly  puzzled;  for  a  long  time,  no  case  had 
presented  itself  under  such  a  mysterious  aspect.  A  crime 
had  been  committed,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that,  and 
all  idea  of  suicide  must  perforce  be  abandoned.  But  the 
assassin,  with  the  exception  of  the  terrible  wound  he 
had  inflicted,  had  left  no  trace  of  his  passage.  The 
weapon  which  he  had  used  belonged  to  the  victim,  and, 
after  the  most  minute  researches,  there  had  been  discovered 
in  the  apartment  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  none  of  those 
objects  which  ordinarily  serve  to  enlighten  the  magis- 
trates and  often  to  convince  a  jury.  In  a  case  recently 
tried  in  England,  a  hat  forgotten  by  the  murderer  led 
to  his  condemnation  ;  a  knife  lost  by  Latour  near  the 
bed  of  his  two  victims  brought  about  his  death-sentence; 
and  a  button  dropped  from  a  shirt  was  sufficient  to  cause 
more  than  one  head  to  fall.  But  here  there  was  nothing 
similar,  no  material  indication  which  could  justify  a  war- 
rant being  issued.  It  was  necessary  to  have  recourse  to 
moral  probabilities,  and  to  enter  into  the  vast  field  of 
conjecture  and  supposition. 

Who  could  have  had  an  interest  in  killing  Maurice 
Vulal?  This  was  the  point  of  departure,  but  a  point  yet 
to  be  discovered.  Was  it  his  wife?  No  intelligent  per- 
son could  believe  that  for  a  second;  Fedora  was  worthy 
of  every  sympathy;  the  blow  which  struck  her  husband 
had  nearly  killed  her  also.  Far  from  suspecting  her,  one 
ought  to  think  of  avenging  her. 

Was  it  a  common  robber?  a  professional  thief  ?  His 
presence  would  have  been  noticed  in  the  house  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix;  he  could  not  have  resisted  the  temptation 
»f  taking  the  sum  of  gold  found  in  the  desk;    he  would 


36  FEDORA  t   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

• 
have  carried  off  the  many  valuable  objects  contained  in 
the  apartment,   and   Maurice  Vidal,   besides,  would  not 
have  attempted  to  write  a  name  he  could  not  have  known. 

Was  it  an  inmate  of  the  house?  This  would  explain 
the  testimony  of  the  concierge,  who  declared  that  he  had 
not  opened  the  door  to  any  stranger  during  the  evening 
of  the  19th  of  October.  But  all  the  information  in  regard 
to  the  inmates  of  No.  6,  who  were  moreover  small  in 
number,  showed  that  they  were  peaceable  citizens,  un- 
known to  the  police,  and  who  could  not,  with  any  appear- 
ance of  reason,  be  suspected  of  the  crime. 

One  only  of  these  inmates  attracted  attention  for 
awhile;  this  was  an  American,  about  forty  years  old,  who 
had  hired,  two  months  before,  a  little  apartment  on  the 
fourth  floor.  An  examination  of  his  rooms  was  ordered, 
but  nothing  out  of  the  way  discovered.  He  was  examined 
and  came  out  unscathed. 

Was  it  one  of  the  persons  whom  Maurice  Vidal  was  in  the 
habit  of  receiving?  They  were  summoned  as  witnesses, 
and  from  their  clear  and  precise  testimony  and  informa- 
tion as  to  their  morality  from  all  quarters,  it  resulted  that 
there  could  not  exist  a  shadow  of  suspicion  against  them. 

Was  it,  finally,  the  individual  mentioned  by  the  con- 
cierge as  having  come  to  see  M.  Vidal  on  the  18th  of  Oc- 
tober, and  whom  the  commissary  of  police  of  the  Bourse 
had  reported  on  at  length?  Had  he  entered  the  house  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix  without  being  perceived? 

This  individual,  named  Albert  Savari,  was  not  entirely 
unknown  at  police  headquarters.  Although  he  had  never 
served  any  sentence,  he  had  been  mixed  up  in  one  or  two 
shady  affairs;  his  antecedents  were  not  all  that  could  be 
desired,  and  there  were  some  dark  corners  in  his  life.  He 
was,  moreover,  in  debt  to  Maurice  Vidal  for  a  considera- 
ble sum,  and  he  had  not  been  able  to  take  up  his  note. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PA.IX.  37 

No  more  was  needed  to  call  the  attention  of  the  law  in 
his  direction,  and  a  warrant  was  issued  against  him. 

This  energetic  measure  was  demanded  by  the  interest 
excited  by  the  affair;  every  one  was  talking  about  it.  As 
often  happens  in  Paris,  where  the  most  serious  matters 
are  treated  lightly,  bets  were  offered  as  to  whether  the 
guilty  person  would  or  would  not  be  discovered.  Several 
opposition  newspapers  even  took  advantage  of  the  oc- 
casion to  complain  of  the  manner  in  which  police  duties 
were  performed;  they  were  astonished  that  it  was  so  easy 
to  commit  a  murder  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  and  so  difficult 
to  discover  the  murderer.  The  most  advanced  of  these 
sheets  went  so  far  as  to  give  it  out  that  a  powerful  person- 
age might  be  compromised  in  all  this,  and  that  the  police 
had  received  orders  not  to  act.  The  arrest  of  Albert 
Savari  was  the  first  answer  to  these  attacks. 

We  shall  now  accompany  him  to  the  office  of  the  ex- 
amining magistrate,  M.  Gourbet,  who  had  charge  of  the 
matter. 

His  office  resembled  all  offices  devoted  to  judicial  exam- 
inations. A  door  opened  upon  a  vast  corridor  furnished 
with  benches  and  serving  as  an  antechamber  for  the  con- 
stables, witnesses,  and  all  persons  who  had  received  a 
summons  to  appear.  A  little  door,  more  obscure,  gave 
direct  communication  with  the  department  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie,  and  was  used  for  conducting  prisoners  in  and 
out.  The  desk  was  placed  so  that  the  one  who  occupied 
it  could  turn  his  back  to  the  light,  and  leave  the  witness' 
face  turned  toward  the  window.  This  might  be  of  great 
advantage  in  observing  the  slightest  change  in  the  expres- 
sion of  a  prisoner.  One  is  as  easily  betrayed  by  a  gesture, 
an  attitude,  a  look  or  a  sudden  change  of  color  as  by 
words,  and  often  an  unexpected  question,  suddenly  put  to 
a  criminal  is  sufficient  to  enlighten  a  judge. 

394867 


38  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

A  little  table  near  the  desk  was  for  the  use  of  the 
clerk  charged  with  drawing  up  the  report  of  the  exami- 
nation. A  leathern  arm-chair,  two  or  three  chairs  for  the 
witnesses  and  the  prisoners,  according  to  their  social 
position  and  the  degree  of  interest  which  they  inspired, 
completed  the  furniture. 

M.  Gourbet  ceased  to  perform  his  duties  as  examining 
magistrate  in  1850,  and  he  has  now  been  dead  for  many 
years,  which  allows  us  to  praise  him,  without  wounding 
any  one's  feelings.  He  was  certainly  a  magistrate  who 
lias  left  the  pleasantest  memories  behind  him  at  the 
Palais  de  Justice.  If  we  believe  the  persons  who  knew 
him,  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  possess  in  a  higher* 
degree  the  rare  qualities  exacted  by  his  profession.  He 
knew  how  to  unite  with  a  firmness  and  severity,  too  often 
necessary,  a  kindness,  and  in  certain  cases,  a  delicacy,  a 
way  of  reassuring  timid  people,  of  giving  courage  to  the 
weak,  of  consoling  the  guilty,  which  merited  all  encomium. 
In  a  word,  he  had  solved  this  difficult  problem:  To  do 
good  even  to  those  whom  his  conscience  commanded  him 
to  strike  most  severely.  One  of  his  clerks  said,  one  day: 
"  Half  of  M.  Gourbet's  life  is  passed  in  sending  people 
to  prison,  and  the  other  half  in  finding  reasons  for  releasing 
them  or  softening  their  punishment." 

At  the  moment  we  enter  his  office,  the  2nd  of  Novem- 
ber, about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  M.  Gourbet  was 
standing  with  his  elbow  resting  upon  the  mantelpiece, 
engaged  in  conversation  with  a  young  lady  in  deep 
mourning,  seated  in  an  arm-chair.  It  was  Fedora  Vidal, 
whom  he  had  interviewed  several  times  and  who  had 
been  summoned  to  his  office. 

"  So,  Madame,"  he  said,  "  there  is  nothing  new  since 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  Monsieur." 


IN  THE  KtJE  DE  LA  PAIX.  39 

"  Do  not  fear  to  tell  me  even  the  things  which  appear  to 
you  the  most  insignificant.  In  a  judicial  examination,  it 
often  happens  that  light  is  suddenly  obtained  from  a  fact 
which  no  one  regarded  at  first  as  of  any  importance.  You 
have  had  the  courage,  I  hear,  not  to  leave  your  apartment 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  and  you  continue  to  live  in  the 
place  where  the  crime  was  committed? — " 

"Yes,  Monsieur,"  exclaimed  Fedora,  interrupting  M. 
Gourbet,  "  I  shall  never  till  I  die  leave  that  house  where 
we  were  so  happy." 

And,  as  she  spoke,  the  long  pent-up  tears  rolled  down 
her  cheeks. 

Since  the  day  when  we  saw  her  descend  so  joyously  from 
the  Marseilles  diligence,  Fedora  was  greatly  changed. 
Her  face  was  thin,  her  eyes  were  encircled  with  dark  rings, 
and  a  heavy  pallor  replaced  the  rich  color  of  her  cheeks. 

Sorrow  was  evident  in  her  whole  person.  But  she  was 
so  young,  her  features  were  so  faultlessly  regular,  through 
her  pallor  could  be  perceived  still  so  much  health  and  life, 
that  she  had  lost  nothing  of  her  beauty,  but  had  acquired, 
on  the  contrary,  an  additional  charm. 

The  magistrate  could  not  help  contemplating  her  with 
interest;  then,  when  he  saw  she  was  calmer,  he  said: 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  Madame,  for  recalling  thus  your 
suffering;  but  you  can  be  of  great  service  to  me  in  help- 
ing me  with  the  task  entrusted  to  me  and  which  I  hone 
to  succeed  in." 

"Oh!  yes,"  cried  Fedora,  raising  her  head  quickly, 
"  you  must  succeed,  Monsieur.  You  will  avenge  my  hus- 
band— we  will  avenge  him!  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  answered  M.  Gourbet.  "  But  I  must  tell 
you  that  in  all  my  career,  although  it  is  a  very  long  one, 
I  have  rarely  met  with  so  mysterious  an  affair  as  this. 
All  the  links  which  I  thought  to  be  able  to  connect  are 


40  FEDORA  :    OE,  THE  TRAGEDY 

broken  in  my  hands.  I  can  only  advance  now  on  tiptoe 
and  with  extreme  caution,  for  if  it  is  wounding  to  the 
self-conceit  of  a  magistrate,  whose  power  is  so  extend- 
ed, who  has  so  many  resources,  to  give  up  the  discov- 
ery of  a  criminal,  it  is  still  more  bitter  to  his  con- 
science to  arrest  an  innocent  man,  only  to  ultimately 
release  him." 

"But  then,"  said  Fedora,  "the  guilty  man  would  never 
be  found.  My  husband  ordered  me  to  avenge  him,  and  I 
will  obey  him! " 

"  And  I  say  again,  Madame,  I  will  aid  you.  But  we 
must  first  find  the  murderer,  and  I  fear  that  we  are  not 
yet  upon  his  tracks." 

"  But  I  read  last  evening  in  the  paper  that  the  assassin 
had  been  arrested." 

"The  papers  are  mistaken,  Madame,  or  rather  they  de- 
ceive their  readers  in  order  to  appear  well  informed.  A 
man  was,  indeed,  arrested  yesterday  by  my  orders;  he  is 
to  appear  before  me  in  a  few  moments;  there  is  certain 
evidence  against  him  which  justified  his  arrest,  but  it  is  by 
no  means  conclusive.  The  proofs  against  this  prisoner 
are  rather  moral  than  material.  I  will  say  more,  there  is 
almost  no  material  proof.  Wait,"  he  added,  taking 
several  papers  from  his  desk,  "  here  is  a  report  of  the  com- 
missary of  police  charged  with  arresting  this  individual. 
It  seems  that  his  attitude  was  not  that  of  a  criminal;  he  ap- 
peared greatly  astonished,  very  much  surprised,  when  the 
warrant  was  shown  to  him,  and  if  he  were  playing  a  part, 
he  must  be  a  skillful  actor,  for  he  succeeded  in  deceiving 
one  of  our  oldest  employes.  The  prisoner's  rooms  were, 
as  is  usual,  subjected  to  the  most  careful  examination,  and 
the  result,  without  being  absolutely  negative,  furnished  us 
with  no  conclusive  proof.  I  do  not  rely  much  upon  dis- 
covering anything  in  his  approaching  examination,"  con- 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  41 

eluded  M.  Gourbet,  with  a  glance  at  the  clock  over  the 
fireplace. 

Fedora  understood  that  she  was  dismissed,  and  she  rose 
to  take  leave  of  the  magistrate;  but,  before  retiring, 
she  asked  him  the  name  of  the  person  who  had  been  ar- 
rested. 

"  Albert  Savari  de  Montbrise,"  replied  M.  Gourbet.  "I 
told  you  his  name  before  and  you  said  you  did  not  know 
him.  It  is  a  pity,  for  any  information  you  might  have 
given  us  in  regard  to  him  would  have  been  invaluable." 

u  No,"  replied  Madame  Vidal,  after  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion, "  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  heard  my  husband  men- 
tion him,  and  yet,  just  now,  when  you  pronounced  that 
name,  I  felt  again  the  same  emotion  I  experienced  be- 
fore." 

"  What  emotion?  What  do  you  mean?  Explain  your- 
self." 

"  I  can  not  explain.  I  do  not  understand  it  myself. 
The  day  when  I  heard  you  say  for  the  first  time  '  Albert 
Savari  de  Montbrise,'  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  turned  pale, 
that  my  heart  beat  more  quickly;  I  wished  to  see  if  I  was 
right,  if  the  same  phenomenon  would  be  repeated,  and  so 
I  asked  you  just  now  to  tell  me  again  that  name,  although 
I  knew  it  and  it  is  constantly  present  in  my  thoughts." 

"  There  is  nothing  strange  in  that,"  observed  M.  Gour- 
bet. "  Monsieur  Savari  is  the  only  person  seriously  com- 
promised in  this  matter.  You  know  that,  and  his  name 
naturally  causes  you  a  certain  emotion." 

"  Possibly,  Monsieur.  You  asked  me  to  acquaint  you 
with  all  my  impressions,  and  I  obeyed  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Madame,"  answered  the  magistrate,  con- 
ducting Fedora  to  the  door. 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me  at  our  last  interview,"  he  added, 
as  he  was  bidding  her  farewell,  "  that  you  had  been  an- 


42  fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

noyed  for  several  days  by  people  coming  to  you  with 
offers  of  service?  " 

"Alas!  yes,  Monsieur,  and  I  do  not  like  their  appear- 
ance. Most  of  them  pretend  to  belong  to  the  police  and 
to  be  charged  with  examining  the  apartment." 

"  In  future,  Madame,  receive  only  those  persons  who 
bring  a  note  from  me.  The  least  one  can  do  is  to  respect 
your  sorrow,  and  see  that  you  are  not  the  victim  of  the 
curious  and  prying." 

"  This  very  morning,"  said  Fedora,  with  her  hand  on 
the  door-knob,  "an  individual  presented  himself  who 
almost  insisted  on  being  received.  But  Marietta,  know- 
ing that  I  was  preparing  to  come  here,  refused  to  admit 
him.     He  left  his  name  and  said  he  would  return." 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  " 

"Vibert,  I  think." 

"  Vibert!  "  said  M.  Gourbet,  as  if  trying  to  remember. 
"  Ah!  I  have  it!  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  see  him,  Madame. 
He  is,  it  seems,  a  very  intelligent,  active  and  zealous  man; 
he  might  on  occasion  be  useful  to  us,  as  he  was  very 
highly  recommended  to  me  yesterday  by  the  prefect  of 
police." 

"  I  will  see  him,  when  he  calls  again." 

After  bowing  to  the  magistrate,  she  was  about  to  turn 
the  handle  of  the  door,  when  she  perceived  that  some 
one  was  trying  it  on  the  other  side.  _ 

She  started  back;  the  door  opened  and  gave  pass?ge  to 
a  little  man  about  fifty  years  old.  He  whispered  a  word 
or  two  in  M.  Gourbet's  ear,  and  sat  down  at  the  clerk's 
table. 

"  He  tells  me  the  prisoner  is  here,"  said  M.  Gourbet. 

"Ah!  "  cried  Fedora,  "then  I  will  go."  But  stopping 
suddenly  on  the  threshold,  she  advanced  resolutely  to  the 
magistrate,  and  said:  "  I  should  like  to  see  him!  " 


IJST  THE  RUE  DE  LA   PATX.  43 

The  thin  little  man,  who  was  occupied  with  cutting  a 
quill-pen,  raised  his  head  quickly,  as  if  he  thought  these 
words  very  strange. 

M.  Gourbet,  less  astonished  than  his  clerk  by  reason  of 
the  conversation  he  had  just  had  with  Madame  Vidal, 
regarded  her  attentively,  and  satisfied  doubtless  with  his 
examination, 

"  What  you  ask,  Madame,  can  be  arranged,"  he  said. 

The  little  man,  more  and  more  surprised,  started,  and 
cut  his  finger  instead  of  his  pen. 

"Do  you  feel  you  have  the  courage,"  continued  M. 
Gourbet,  "  during  the  whole  examination,  not  to  say  a 
word  nor  make  a  movement  which  would  betray  your 
presence  in  my  office?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  I  have  the  courage." 

"Even  if  I  should  happen  to  make  Monsieur  Savari 
confess  that  he  is  your  husband's  assassin?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur;  I  shall  die,  perhaps,  but  I  shall  die  in 
silence,"  cried  Fedora,  with  the  Italian  vehemence  peculiar 
to  her. 

M.  Gourbet  made  a  sign  to  the  little  man,  who  glided 
toward  him. 

We  use  the  word  glide  designedly  in  speaking  of  the  clerk. 
He  had  a  very  peculiar  manner  of  walking;  his  feet  did 
not  leave  the  ground,  his  legs  were  not  raised,  his  knees 
were  not  bent;  he  seemed  to  make  no  use  of  his  joints, 
but  advanced,  like  a  car  gliding  over  the  rails. 

This  clerk,  who  is  still  remembered  among  the  lawyers, 
was  an  excellent  man,  however.  How  often  1  have  seen 
him  slip  into  the  hand  of  some  unhappy  prisoner,  after  his 
examination,  a  little  paper  of  tobacco  bought  with  his 
own  savings.  "  You  are  in  for  it! "  he  would  whisper. 
"  I  have  read  over  the  report,  your  case  is  clear,  and  you 
will  get  ten  years  at  least;  take  this  to  console  you." 

D 


44  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

When  the  prisoner  was  an  old  acquaintance,  who  had 
often  appeared  before  the  magistrate,  the  thin  little  man 
would  add  sometimes  to  the  paper  of  caporal  a  cheap  clay 
pipe. 

"You  understand,  Monsieur  Cordier?"  said  the  magis- 
trate, after  having  spoken  in  a  low  voice  to  his  clerk. 

"It  shall  be  done  as  you  desire,  Monsieur,"  replied 
Cordier,  solemnly. 

He  called  an  attendant,  ordered  him  to  place  a  screen 
in  one  of  the  corners  of  the  room,  and  this  being  done,  he 
took  Madame  Vidal  gallantly  by  the  hand,  and  without  a 
word  or  a  look,  continuing  to  glide  over  the  floor,  he  led 
her  behind  the  screen,  made  her  sit  down,  arranged  the 
screen  carefully,  and  returned  to  his  customary  place  be- 
hind the  table. 

Scarcely  were  these  preparations  finished,  when  the 
prisoner  was  shown  into  the  magistrate's  office. 


VII. 

Albert  Savari,  as  the  concierge  of  No.  6  Rue  de  la  Paix 
described  him  in  his  examination,  was  a  tall,  fair  man, 
with  distinguished  manners.  At  first  sight,  one  would 
judge  him  to  be  about  forty,  but  after  an  attentive  exam- 
ination, it  was  plain  that  he  was  only  thirty-four  or  five, 
and  that  late  hours  and  fatigues  of  all  kinds  had  prema- 
turely aged  him. 

It  must  be  acknowledged,  however,  that  his  rather 
languid  air,  his  slightly  gray  hair,  and  his  heavy  eyes,  in- 
stead of  injuring  the  prisoner's  personal  appearance,  gave 
him  an  air  of  distinction  and  a  peculiar  charm.  His  toilet 
was  simple  but  elegant,  when  he  presented  himself  before 


IN  THE  RUE  DE   LA   PAIX.  45 

M.  Gourbet;  no  one  accompanied  him,  orders  having  been 
given,  that  the  gendarmes  who  had  conducted  him  to  the 
examination  should  remain  outside  in  the  corridor.  He 
saluted  the  judge  without  affectation,  sat  down  at  the 
latter's  invitation,  and  spoke  first,  without  waiting  for  M. 
Gourbet  to  begin  his  interrogatory. 

"  May  I  know,  Monsieur,"  he  asked,  rather  stiffly,  but 
with  perfect  calmness,  "  for  what  reason  I  was  so  unex- 
pectedly arrested  yesterday,  and  why  I  am  now  brought 
before  you  ?  " 

"Monsieur,"  replied  M.  Gourbet  immediately,  "you  are 
brought  before  me  to  answer  the  questions  I  shall  put  to 
you,  and  not  to  interrogate  me,  as  vou  appear  to  have  the 
intention  of  doing." 

"  It  is  natural,  however,  Monsieur,  that  I  should  wish  to 
know  of  what  misdemeanor  or  crime  I  am  accused.  I 
have  vainly  questioned  the  agents  charged  with  my  arrest; 
they  refused  to  answer  me." 

"They  only  did  their  duty,  Monsieur,"  replied  the 
examining  magistrate,  in  a  firm  voice.  "  But  what  they 
could  not  tell  you,  I  am  here  to  inform  you  of,  and  I 
should  have  already  done  so,  if  you  had  not  spoken  first, 
contrary  to  all  the  rules  of  this  office." 

"I  do  not  know  your  rules,  Monsieur;  I  am  not  in  the 
habit  of  being  here." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  not 
have  to  appear  before  me  again.  You  are  not  accused  of 
a  misdemeanor,"  continued  M.  Gourbet,  after  a  pause, 
regarding  the  prisoner  fixedly;  "you  are  accused  of  a 
crime." 

"Ah!  really!  what  crime?" 

"  Of  having  murdered  a  young  man  named  Maurice 
Vidal." 

Albert  Savari  did  not  move  a  muscle,  at  hearing  this 


46  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

clear  and  precise  accusation;  his  countenance  did  not 
betray  the  least  emotion,  and  addressing  the  magistrate, 
he  said: 

"  I  confess  that  I  was  far  from  expecting  to  be  com- 
promised in  the  affair  of  which  I  have  heard  so  much  talk 
during  the  last  few  days.  Would  it  be  indiscreet  for  me 
to  ask  you,  Monsieur,"  he  continued  with  perfect  courtesy 
and  as  if  he  were  in  a  drawing  room,  "  what  are  the  rea- 
sons for  suspecting  me  of  such  a  crime?" 

"You  shall  know  them  soon,  Monsieur;  but,  as  youi 
first  curiosity  is  satisfied,  we  will  now  proceed  in  a  regular 
manner.  Please  give  me  your  surname  and  Christian 
names.  Monsieur  Cordier,  take  note  of  the  questions 
and  answers,  please." 

"  My  name  is  Albert  Savari,"  replied  the  prisoner,  turn- 
ing toward  the  thin  little  man,  who  was  regarding  him 
with  interest. 

"Do  you  not  usually  bear  another  name?"  asked  the 
magistrate. 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  I  am  sometimes  called  de  Mont- 
brise." 

"  If  my  information  is  correct,  you  have  no  right  to  bear 
that  name.     How  did  you  come  by  it?  " 

"  I  took  it  from  some  land  that  has  always  belonged  to 
my  family." 

"That  does  not  constitute  a  right  to  it.  But  that  is 
immaterial.     How  old  are  you?" 

"  Thirty-six." 

"  What  is  your  profession?" 

"  I  have  none." 

"How  do  you  live,  then?" 

"  I  live  well  enough,  Monsieur." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  M.  Gourbet,  severely,  "  I  can  not 
allow  you  for  one  moment  to  use  a  jesting  tone  in  your 


IN   THE  RUE   DE  LA   PAIX.  47 

replies.  If  you  should  happen  again  to  be  less  serious 
than  your  position  of  prisoner  demands,  I  shall  not  hesi- 
tate to  send  you  back  to  jail  and  postpone  your  examina- 
tion to  another  day." 

Savari  listened  quietly  to  this  reprimand,  and  made  no 
answer. 

"  I  ask  you,"  continued  the  magistrate,  "  what  are  your 
means  of  existence?  " 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  the  prisoner,  in  a  much  more  seri- 
ous tone  and  in  which  was  apparent  no  shade  of  lightness, 
"  if  you  mean  by  means  of  existence  an  income  from  gov- 
ernment bonds  or  real  estate  or  some  particular  employ- 
ment, I  must  acknowledge  that  I  have  none.  Like  many 
young  men  of  our  age,  I  live  from  day  to  day;  sometimes 
rich  by  accident,  but  most  often  poor.  Sometimes  I 
make  a  fortunate  speculation  on  the  Bourse,  sometimes  I 
win  at  play.  I  have  had  fifty  thousand  francs  at  my  dis- 
position on  the  10th  of  the  month,  and  on  the  15th  I 
could  not  pay  my  board  bill.  This  is  queer  and  irregular, 
I  confess,  but  it  is  true;  and  since  you  appear  to  desire 
the  truth,  Monsieur,  I  have  given  it  to  you." 

"A  sad  truth,  Monsieur,  which  might  injure  you  before 
a  jury." 

"A  jury!  "said  Albert  Savari,  without  apparent  emo- 
tion at  the  words  designedly  spoken  by  the  magistrate. 
"Oh!  I  don't  think  I  shall  have  to  appear  before  a  jury. 
You  will  not  be  long,  Monsieur,  in  acknowledging  my 
entire  innocence." 

"We  will  take  care  of  that  question  presently.  Mean- 
while, I  will  continue  my  examination.  Were  you  not 
once  before,  when  you  were  scarcely  twenty-five,  brought 
before  a  magistrate?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur;  it  was  in  regard  to  a  duel." 

"  In  which  you  killed  your  adversary." 


48  FEDORA  :    OR,   THE  TRAGEDY 

"That  is  true,  Monsieur,  I  had  that  misfortune;  but  I 
was  acquitted." 

"  The  reports  of  that  case  mention  you  as  a  dissipated 
man." 

"Ah!  Monsieur,  I  was  neither  more  nor  less  dissipated 
than  the  young  men  with  whom  I  associated,  and  who 
have  since  become  quiet,  honorable  citizens.  Some  are 
doctors,  some  lawyers,  some  magistrates.  Ask  them  to 
tell  you  how  they  lived  from  the  age  of  eighteen  to 
twenty-five,  in  what  places  they  passed  a  part  of  their 
evenings,  what  society  they  frequented,  and,  if  they  are 
frank,  you  can  apply  to  them  as  well  as  to  me  that  epithet, 
dissipated." 

"You  are  also  said  to  possess  a  violent  temper," 
observed  M.  Gourbet. 

"  That  is  true ;  I  have  always,  unfortunately  for  myself, 
been  very  hot-headed." 

"  You  do  not  fear  to  acknowledge  that?  Such  a  declara- 
tion would  be  of  great  importance  in  the  matter  in  ques- 
tion." 

"  I  do  not  see  what  importance  it  can  have,  Monsieur, 
as  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  affair  you  speak  of." 

M.  Gourbet  paused.  He  was  astonished  at  the  man's 
ease  and  coolness.  However,  during  his  long  career,  he 
had  often  met  with  capital  actors,  certain  criminals  who 
had  defended  their  life  and  liberty,  step  by  step,  for  whole 
days,  with  the  greatest  skill  and  cunning.  But  in  the 
present  instance,  he  met  with  new  tactics;  the  prisoner 
seemed  to  have  called  frankness  to  his  aid  and  made  use 
of  it  as  a  defensive  weapon.  Far  from  trying  to  gloss 
over  or  palliate  his  faults,  he  acknowledged  them  without 
bragging,  but  also  without  weakness;  far  from  wishing 
to  deny  his  habits  and  manner  of  life,  he  confessed  all 
their  irregularity. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  49 

"This  man  is  innocent,  or  else  he  is  endowed  with 
great  force  of  character  and  rare  intelligence,"  thought 
M.  Gourbet. 

"  The  occasion  of  the  duel,"  he  continued,  "  is  not  the 
only  time  you  were  brought  before  the  courts.  You  do 
not  speak  of  a  certain  affair —  " 

"I  was  waiting  for  you  to  do  so,  Monsieur;  you  told  me 
I  was  here  only  to  answer  your  questions,  and  I  have  not 
forgotten  it." 

"True!  Then,  will  you  tell  me  if  you  were  not  com- 
promised in  a  certain  quarrel  over  a  game  of  cards?" 

"  I  had  something  to  do  with  it,"  replied  Savari.  "  A 
certain  young  man  who  had  lost  sixty  thousand  francs  and 
was  unable  to  pay  up  the  next  day,  accused  the  men  to 
whom  he  owed  the  money  of  having  manipulated  the 
cards,  in  fact,  of  having  robbed  him.  That  thing  hap- 
pens every  day,  Monsieur;  unlucky  players,  instead  of 
blaming,  as  they  ought,  their  luck  and  sometimes  the 
absurd  manner  in  which  they  play,  prefer  to  accuse  their 
opponents  and  to  say  they  are  the  victims  of  cheating. 
This  kind  of  accusation  allows  them  to  get  rid  of  paying 
their  gaming  debts.  In  the  matter  of  which  you  speak, 
a  complaint  was  made  against  a  dozen  persons,  one  of 
whom  I  was;  we  were  summoned  before  a  magistrate, 
examined,  made  to  produce  the  cards  alleged  to  have 
been  marked,  and  from  all  this  there  was  but  one  result; 
our  slanderer  settled  his  debt  with  us  at  the  end  of  six 
months,  instead  of  settling  it  the  next  day.  It  is  only  just 
to  add  that  we  demanded  of  him  a  written  apology,  to 
which  request  he  judged  it  best  to  accede." 

Albert  Savari  gave  these  details  with  so  much  uncon- 

straint,  his  voice  was  so  sympathetic,  and  he  seemed  so 

much   at  his   ease,  that  the   clerk   himself  forgot  for  a 

moment  where  he  was,  imagined  himself  in  some  drawing 

4 


50  FEDORA  :    OK,   THE  TRAGEDY 

room  entertained  by  an  agreeable  visitor,  and  instead  of 
writing,  as  he  ought,  caught  himself  listening. 

There  was  nothing  to  betray  Madame  Vidal's  presence 
behind  the  screen.  She  observed  the  most  religious 
silence,  as  she  had  promised. 

After  a  few  moments'  reflection,  M.  Gourbet,  having  no 
more  preliminary  questions  to  put,  entered  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  the  crime  with  the  abruptness  which  magistrates 
sometimes  employ  to  intimidate  and  confuse  the  criminal. 

"How  did  you  pass  the  evening  of  the  19th  of  October 
last?"  he  asked  Savari. 

"How  did  you,  Monsieur? "  responded  the  latter. 

This  unexpected  answer  was  of  a  nature  to  irritate  any 
magistrate,  however  patient  he  might  be.1  M.  Gourbet 
rose  and  exclaimed: 

"Monsieur,  you  forget  the  respect  due  to  the  law, 
which  I  represent  at  this  moment.  I  am  about  to  give 
orders  to — " 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  Albert  Savari,  interrupting  him  in 
a  very  firm  tone,  but  with  an  exquisite  politeness  destined 
to  calm  the  judge's  natural  irritation,  "  I  assure  you,  you 
have  mistaken  the  meaning  of  my  words.  I  had  no 
intention  to  insult  a  magistrate,  whose  manners  and 
language,  severe  as  they  are,  have  not  ceased  for  a  mo- 
ment, I  am  forced  to  recognize,  to  be  courteous  and 
polite.  I  only  wished,  by  that  question  I  addressed  you 
in  answer  to  your  own,  to  make  you  understand  how 
difficult  it  was  to  reply  to  you.  You  ask  me  point-blank 
what  I  did  the  19th  of  October,  and  I  reply:  What  did 
you  do?  1  am  sure  that,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the 
world,  anybody,  asked  thus  suddenly  to  account  for  his 
actions,  would  be  at  a  loss  what  to  say." 

"That  depends,  Monsieur,  on  the  life  one  leads,"  said 
M.  Gourbet,  seating  himself  again.     "  If  the  question  is 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PALX.  51 

an  embarrassing  one  for  some  people,  it  would  not  be  for 
all.  But  this  discussion  has  given  you  time  to  reflect- 
can  you  answer  me  now?  " 

"I  will  try  to,  at  least,  Monsieur.  Unless  I  am  mis- 
taken, I  must  have  dined  at  the  Cafe  Anglais." 

"Are  you  known  there  ?  " 

"Perfectly,  for  some  years." 

"At  what  time  do  you  think  you  left  there?" 

"  It  must  have  been  about  eight  o'clock." 

"  Be  precise,  I  beg,  Monsieur.  Your  answers  are  of  the 
greatest  importance;  for  the  crime  must  have  been  com- 
mitted between  eight  and  nine  o'clock,"  said  M.  Gourbet, 
whose  tactics  now  consisted  in  appearing  perfectly  frank. 

"  Monsieur,  if  I  had  committed  that  crime,"  replied 
Savari,  "  I  should  know  at  what  hour  I  committed  it,  and 
then  I  should  answer  you  that  I  remained  at  the  Cafe 
Anglais  till  nine  o'clock,  in  order  to  prove  an  alibi." 

"  But  your  statement  can  easily  be  proved  false." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  would  be  very  difficult  to  do  so, 
Monsieur.  The  habitues  of  the  Cafe  Anglais  dine  very 
late;  it  is  not  a  rare  thing  to  see  the  rooms  quite  full  at 
nine  o'clock,  and,  out  of  the  five  or  six  waiters,  at  least 
half  would  probably  in  all  good  faith  declare  that  they 
saw  me  at  that  hour.  If  I  say  that  I  left  about  eight 
o'clock,  it  is  because  I  wish  to  approach  as  nearly  the  truth 
as  possible." 

"  Very  well!  you  left  the  Cafe  Anglais  at  eight  o'clock; 
what  did  you  do  then?" 

"  I  must,  according  to  my  usual  custom,  have  walked 
about  an  hour  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens." 

"  What  persons  did  you  meet?  Did  you  stop  to  speak 
to  any  of  your  friends?  " 

Albert  Savari  reflected  in  the  most  natural  manner  in 
the  world,  and  answered: 


62  FEDORA  :    OR,   THE  TRAGEDY 

"  No,  I  think  I  met  no  one,  and  I  walked  alone." 

"  That  seems  strange,"  observed  the  magistrate.  "  The 
weather  was  very  fine  on  the  19th  of  October,  and  there 
must  have  been  many  of  your  acquaintances  on  the  Boule- 
vard des  Italiens  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening." 

"Possibly,  Monsieur;  *but  I  did  not  happen  to  see 
any  of  them.  Besides,  allow  me  to  say  that,  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens  is 
less  frequented  than  at  any  other  time;  everybody  has 
gone  to  the  theatre  or  to  the  club  or  to  some  social 
gathering." 

"After  that  walk  of  an  hour,  where  did  you  go?" 

"I  went  home  for  a  moment." 

"It  was  then  nine  o'clock,  you  say?" 

"About  nine  o'clock." 

"  Your  concierge,  who  has  been  examined  since  your 
arrest,  says  he  did  not  see  you  till  about  ten." 

"Nine,  half-past  nine  or  ten  are  all  the  same  to  a  con- 
cierge who  sleeps  half  the  time,"  observed  the  prisoner. 

"And  why  did  you  return,  contrary  to  your  usual  cus- 
tom, at  that  hour?" 

"Oh!  for  a  very  simple  reason,  Monsieur;  I  had  put 
on  in  the  morning  a  light  overcoat,  and  as  it  was  growing 
cold,  I  went  to  exchange  it  for  a  heavy  one." 

"It  would  have  been  simpler  to  have  gone  directly  to 
the  house  where  you  passed  the  night." 

"  That  I  was  going  to  that  house  was  the  very  reason 
1  wished  to  be  dressed  more  warmly.  I  not  unfrequently 
leave  there  at  two  or  three  in  the  morning,  and  I  took 
my  precautions  in  case  that  should  happen." 

"  Did  you  not  rather,"  asked  the  magistrate,  "  lay  aside 
your  light  overcoat  because  there  were  spots  on  it  which 
might  compromise  you?  " 

"  Spots!  "  said  Savari,  calmly.     " "What  spots?" 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PA.IX.  53 

"Two  or  three  spots  of  blood.  How  do  you  explain 
them?" 

"  I  do  not  explain  them  at  all.  There  are  none  there," 
replied  Savari,  firmly. 

M.  Gourbet  had  hoped  that  the  prisoner,  if  he  were 
guilty,  would  betray  himself  at  this  statement,  and  would 
try  to  explain  the  drops  of  blood,  by  speaking  of  a  nose- 
bleed or  a  cut,  as  murderers  usually  do  in  similar  cases. 
Any  explanation  of  this  kind  would  have  been  fatal  to 
Albert,  for  despite  the  most  careful  examination,  no  spots 
like  those  designedly  spoken  of  by  M.  Gourbet  had  been 
found.  The  magistrate  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  to 
himself  that  his  ruse  had  not  succeeded,  either  because 
Savari  was  innocent  or  because  he  was  wonderfully  clever 
and  self-controlled.  But  fearing  lest  his  stratagem  might 
be  discovered,  M.  Gourbet  did  not  abandon  too  quickly 
the  question  he  had  raised;  he  told  the  prisoner  that  the 
spots  on  his  overcoat  would  be  analyzed  by  a  skillful 
chemist.  Savari  did  not  flinch,  but,  facing  the  magistrate, 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  him  to  continue  his  interrogatory. 

"After  remaining  a  short  time  at  home,"  continued  M. 
Gourbet,  "you  went  to  the  house  of  a  person  named 
Pelagie  d'Ermont,  formerly  a  woman  in  good  society, 
and  with  whom  you  live." 

"  Pardon  me,  Monsieur,"  said  Albert  Savari,  smiling, 
"  I  know  Madame  d'Ermont,  I  even  know  her  very  well, 
I  confess,  but  I  do  not  live  with  her." 

"  Don't  let  us  quibble  as  to  words;  you  are  her  lover." 

"  Possibly,  but  it  is  an  advantage  shared  with  several 
others." 

"  Granted,  but  the  person  in  question  has  very  luxurious 
tastes,  she  spends  large  sums  on  her  house,  her  dress  and 
her  carriages,  and  you  must  contribute  to  this  costly 
style  of  living." 


54  fedoba:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  Indeed,  Monsieur,  I  have  spent  some  money  on  the 
person  you  mention.  But,  in  your  position  as  magistrate, 
you  must  know,  as  well  as  I,  all  the  corners  of  Parisian 
life,  and  you  can  not  be  ignorant  that  one  can  be  agree- 
able to  a  woman  like  Madame  d'Ermont  and  be  admitted 
to  her  house,  without  being  absolutely  obliged  to  ruin 
one's  self  for  her." 

Savari  gave  this  explanation  in  a  familiar,  careless  tone, 
as  if  he  were  chatting  with  a  friend.  M.  Gourbet  himself 
had  a  little  relaxed  his  former  stiff  manner.  He  listened 
graciously  to  the  prisoner  and  regarded  him  with  a  less 
severe  eye;  he  was  under  the  charm  of  his  sympathetic 
voice,  and  his  intelligent  and  distinguished  appearance; 
he  forgot  for  a  moment  that  he  was  in  his  office,  face  to 
face  with  a  man  suspected  of  an  odious  crime. 

He  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and  Savari 
also  left  his  chair  and  stood,  leaning  with  his  elbow  on 
the  mantel. 

Suddenly  M.  Gourbet,  remembering  Fedora  Vidal's 
presence  in  his  office,  was  curiotft  to  know  what  she  was 
doing  and  advanced  toward  the  screen. 

A  casual  glance  was  sufficient  to  satisfy  his  curiosity. 
Fedora,  perfectly  motionless,  was  awaiting  in  silence 
the  conclusion  of  the  examination.  Her  pallor  struck 
the  judge  and  recalled  to  him  the  gravity  of  the  occa- 
sion. He  returned  to  his  desk,  and  commenced  on  a 
new  tack. 

"  Did  you  know  Maurice  Vidal?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  prisoner. 

"  How  long?  " 

**  For  about  three  years." 

"How  did  you  make  his  acquaintance." 

"One  of  our  mutual  friends,  M.  de  Montoux,  to  whom 
I  mentioned  one   day  my   desire   to  speculate  on  the 


IN  THE  RITE  BE  LA  PAIX.  55 

Bourse,  offered  to  introduce  me  to  M.  Vidal;  the  latter 
received  me  pleasantly  and  consented  to  fill  my  orders." 

"Without  any  guarantee  or  margin?"  asked  M.  Gourbet. 

"My  word  was  sufficient  for  him,  Monsieur.  The 
operations,  besides,  were  very  small  ones;  the  difference 
at  each  settling  could  not  have  exceeded  one  or  two  thou- 
sand francs." 

"  That  was  not  always  the  case,"  observed  the  magis- 
trate; "you  once  lost  a  considerable  sum." 

"Yes,  Monsieur;  a  point  I  received  one  day  caused  me 
to  forget  my  usual  caution ;  I  gave  M.  Vidal  an  order,  on 
the  Bourse,  which  he  immediately  executed,  unfortunately 
for  me;  my  information  was  incorrect,  and  all  my  calcu- 
lations were  upset." 

"How  much  did  you  lose  by  this  speculation?" 

"  Twenty  thousand  francs." 

"According  to  my  information  you  lost  fifty  thousand." 

"Pardon  me,  Monsieur;  the  first  operation  cost  me 
twenty  thousand  francs;  then  I  made  a  second  and  a  third, 
in  order  to  retrieve  myself,  and  my  losses  amounted  in  all 
to  fifty  thousand  francs." 

"  And  M.  Vidal  did  not  try  to  stop  you  in  a  course  fatal 
alike  to  you  and  to  him,  since  he  would  be  responsible 
for  your  losses?" 

"  M.  Vidal  had  seen  me  pay,  without  delay,  certain  less 
important  but  still  considerable  sums;  he  had  no  reason 
to  doubt  my  solvency." 

"  And  what  was  the  result  of  these  losses?  " 

"  The  bill  was  presented  to  me,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
declare  that  I  needed  time  to  pay  it." 

"What  was  M.  Vidal's  answer?  " 

"  I  must  confess  that  he  took  it  badly." 

"  An  unfortunate  scene  took  place  between  you  and  him 
on  the  Bourse,  did  it  not?  " 


66  fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Monsieur  Cordier,"  said  the  magistrate,  turning  to  his 
clerk,  "  will  you  read  to  the  prisoner  the  report  of  the 
commissary  of  police  of  the   Bourse  in  regard  to  that 


scone 


9" 


The  thin  little  man  took  a  paper  lying  on  his  table  and 
read  slowly  the  report  from  which  we  have  given  extracts. 

"When  he  had  finished,  M.  Gourbet  asked  Savari  if  the 
facts  were  correct. 

"  Entirely  so,"  responded  the  prisoner. 

"  So  you  acknowledge  that,  after  your  altercation  with 
M.  Vidal,  you  gave  him,  on  his  demanding  it,  your  note 
for  fifty  thousand  francs?" 

"  Certainly,  Monsieur." 

"What  became  of  that  note?"  asked  the  magistrate 
quickly." 

"  It  must  have  been  found  in  my  rooms,  when  they  were 
searched." 

"  Yes,  it  was  found  there;  but  how  did  it  get  there?  " 

"  In  a  very  simple  way ;  I  paid  it  and  it  was  returned 
to  me." 

"  Who  returned  it  to  you?  " 

"  M.  Maurice  Vidal  himself." 

"When?" 

"The  day  before  his  death,  which  was  the  day  after 
my  note  became  due." 

"That  is  impossible;  you  went  to  the  Rue  de  la  Paix 
and  you  did  not  find  him  at  home." 

"Yes,  that  is  true;  they  told  me  that  M.  Vidal  was  out 
and  that  he  would  return  in  the  evening.  But  I  was  in  a 
hurry  to  be  out  of  his  debt;  I  knew  his  ill  will  toward 
me  since  our  altercation,  and  I  feared  another  outbreak;  I 
set  out  to  seek  him  and  I  found  him." 

"Where?" 


IN  THE  BUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  57 

"  In  the  Rue  Vivienne,  which  it  was  his  habit  to  take 
every  day,  on  leaving  the  Bourse.  It  must  have  been 
about  half  past  three." 

"  And  you  paid  him  in  the  street?     That  is  not  likely." 

"Why  not,  Monsieur?  People  connected  with  the 
Bourse  constantly  exchange  important  valuables  on  the 
staircase  of  the  Bourse  or  in  the  neighboring  streets. 
Fifty  thousand  francs  do  not  make  a  bulky  bundle." 

"  And  you  mean  to  say  that  M.  Vidal  carried  your  note 
with  him?"  asked  the  magistrate. 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  he  had  it  with  him,  for  he  gave  it 
up  to  me  at  once." 

"  That  is  incredible." 

"  Allow  me  to  call  to  your  attention,  Monsieur,  that  M. 
Vidal,  when  I  gave  him  my  note,  warned  me  that  he 
should  at  once  place  it  in  the  hands  of  a  constable,  if 
it  were  not  paid  the  very  day  it  fell  due.  It  was  the 
day  after,  and  he  had  heard  nothing  of  me,  and  he  must 
have  had  the  note  with  him  in  order  to  put  his  threat 
into  execution." 

M.  Gourbet,  visibly  annoyed  at  Savari's  answers,  paused 
a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"  The  story  you  have  so  skillfully  imagined  is  defec- 
tive in  one  essential  point:  M.  Vidal  declared  to  many 
persons  that  he  had  no  hope  of  being  paid  by  you.  If 
he  had  been  paid,  as  you  affirm,  he  would  have  certainly 
announced  this  good  news  to  his  friends." 

"  He  would  hardly  have  called  on  them  especially  for 
that  purpose,  and  I  suppose  he  did  not  happen  to  meet 
any  of  them." 

"  There  you  are  wrong.  He  dined  with  one  of  them  on 
the  19th  of  October." 

"  Very  well,  Monsieur,"  said  Savari,  not  at  all  discon- 
certed, "  then  he  was  preoccupied  with  some  other  matter, 


58  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

or  he  might  have  had  reasons  for  not  making  known  what 
had  happened.  It  is  sometimes  imprudent  to  say  to  a 
friend:  'I  have  received  a  sum  of  money  which  I  did 
not  expect.'  The  friend  might  be  tempted  to  try  to 
borrow  from  you,  and  you  would  be  very  much  em- 
barrassed." 

"  Well,  you  are  never  so,  Monsieur,  at  all  events.  You 
always  have  in  reserve  some  answer  more  or  less  good," 
observed  M.  Gourbet,  thoroughly  out  of  temper  at  last. 
"  What  will  you  reply  to  this  question:  How  did  you  pro- 
cure that  sum  of  fifty  thousand  francs,  which  you  pretend 
to  have  paid?" 

The  prisoner,  who  up  to  this  moment  had  answered 
without  hesitation,  was  silent." 

"Didn't  you  hear?"  asked  M.  Gourbet;  "or  do  you 
need  time  to  prepare  your  reply?" 

"Oh!  Monsieur,"  said  Albert  Savari,  with  a  smile,  "if 
I  had  needed  time  to  prepare  my  reply,  I  should  have  had 
all  1  wished  since  the  beginning  of  this  examination;  the 
question  you  ask  me  is  of  great  importance,  and  I  must 
certainly  attend  to  it.  My  hesitation  comes  simply  from 
the  fact  that  I  fear  my  answer  will  not  be  satisfactory  to 
you." 

"  Ah  !  indeed." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  to  you  who  are  a  man  whose  life  is  a 
regular  one,  and  who  can  not  approve  of  certain  odd  ways 
of  raiding  money." 

"What  ways?" 

After  having  thus  skillfully  prepared  the  judge  for  what 
he  was  about  to  hear,  Savari  continued: 

"I  had,"  he  said,  "been  greatly  worried  for  two  months 
in  regard  to  my  debt  to  M.  Vidal;  I  knew  that  he  was  an- 
gry with  me,  and  I  feared  a  suit,  the  least  result  of  which 
would  be  disgrace  to  me.     I,  therefore,  had .  recourse  to 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  59 

one  of  those  means  which  are  not  new,  which  many 
young  men  in  Paris  employ  in  desperate  cases,  but  which 
ordinarily  do  not  succeed.  Early  in  October,  I  sold  vari- 
ous pieces  of  jewelry  and  objects  of  art  which  I  had  been 
able  to  save  from  my  different  shipwrecks,  I  borrowed 
twenty-five  louis  from  one  friend  and  thirty  from  another, 
and- 1  managed  to  scrape  together  in  this  way  three 
thousand  five  hundred  francs.  With  this  sum  I  left  for 
Spa,  where,  Monsieur,  there  are  games  of  roulette  and 
trente-et-quarante.  I  risked  a  thousand  francs  there,  and 
thanks  to  a  new  method  which  I  had  been  studying  for 
a  long  time,  I  succeeded  in  winning  ten  thousand  francs  in 
two  days." 

The  magistrate  showed  signs  of  utter  incredulity,  but 
Savari  did  not  appear  to  perceive  the  effect  produced  by 
his  recital,  and  continued: 

"From  Spa  I  went  to  Germany;  I  stopped  at  Baden, 
Homburg  and  Wiesbaden,  and  I  played  in  all  these  places 
with  the  same  good  luck.  In  short,  Monsieur,  after  an 
absence  of  some  days,  I  returned  to  Paris  the  fifteenth 
of  October  with  a  sum  of  fifty-five  thousand  francs  which 
enabled  me  to  pay  off  in  full  my  creditor.  That  is  my 
story:  it  is  at  bottom  a  very  simple  one,  but,  unfortu- 
nately for  me,  like  all  really  simple  things,  it  appears  at 
first  sight  very  complicated." 

"  Very  complicated,  in  truth,  Monsieur,"  replied  the 
judge.  "  This  story  has  no  value  at  all  in  my  eyes,  and  it 
will  be  of  no  use  in  establishing  your  innocence,  as  the 
facts  you  have  advanced  can  not  be  proven." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  it  can  easily  be  established  that 
I  left  Paris  the  first  week  in  October,  that  I  went  to  Spa 
and  stopped  at  a  hotel  near  the  Conversation  Rooms,  the 
Hotel  d'Orange,  I  think;  my  name  is  inscribed  on  the 
register.     At   Baden  I  occupied  a  room  in  the  Victoria 


60  fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

Hotel,  and  at  Homburg  in  the  Belle-Vue.  Finally,  if 
necessary,  I  can  prove  that  I  returned  to  Paris  on  the 
15th." 

"  And  how  -will  you  prove  that  you  won  fifty  thou- 
sand francs?" 

"That  is  more  difficult,  I  confess.  However,  many 
persons  saw  me  play  and  win." 

"  Germans,  Belgians,  unknown  foreigners  !  How  can 
you  find  them?  " 

"  Great  Heavens,  Monsieur  !  "  cried  Savari,  with  a  cer- 
tain animation,  as  if  he  were  hurt  at  having  his  word  con- 
stantly doubted;  "if  I  had  guessed,  when  I  was  seated 
at  the  gaming  tables  in  Germany,  that,  on  my  return  to 
France  I  should  be  accused  of  murder;  that,  to  defend 
my  life  and  liberty,  I  should  be  obliged  to  prove  my 
winnings  at  play,  I  should  have  obtained  a  written  cer- 
tificate from  the  croupiers." 

Without  replying  to  this  rather  sarcastic  speech,  in 
which  for  the  first  time,  since  the  beginning  of  this  long 
interview,  the  prisoner  had  lost  his  calmness,  M.  Gourbet 
rose,  and,  turning  to  Savari,  said: 

"  My  clerk  will  read  the  report  of  your  examination, 
which  you  will  then  please  sign." 

"  Very  well,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  prisoner. 

He  drew  his  chair  toward  M.  Cordier's  table  and  ap- 
peared to  listen  with  extreme  attention. 

During  the  reading,  which  lasted  more  than  half  an 
hour  and  which  Savari  interrupted  by  no  observation,  M. 
Gourbet,  seated  behind  his  desk,  was  buried  in  profound 
reflection.  He  saw  that,  in  spite  of  his  efforts,  he  had 
failed  to  pierce  the  mystery  which  surrounded  the  crime 
of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  all  the 
more  dense.  It  was  toward  Albert  Savari  that  his  sus- 
picions had  been  directed;  of  all  the  persons  connected 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  61 

with  the  affair,  he  was  the  only  one  who  could  reasonably 
be  supposed  to  be  guilty,  and  now  the  prisoner  had  es- 
caped him.  Yes,  he  had  escaped  him,  or  rather  he  would 
escape  him  before  long,  for  there  were  only  negative  in- 
dications, so  to  speak,  against  him.  To  the  questions 
which  had  been  put  to  him,  he  had  not  always  answered  in 
an  entirely  satisfactory  manner,  but  none  of  his  responses 
condemned  him.  Although  he  had  given  no  certain 
proof  of  his  innocence,  there  was,  on  the  other  hand,  no 
proof  of  his  guilt. 

M.  Gourbet  could,  keeping  strictly  within  the  law  and 
with  no  qualm  of  conscience,  still  keep  Savari  under 
arrest;  but  he  recognized  that  there  were  not  sufficient 
proofs  against  the  prisoner  to  send  him  up  to  the  court 
of  assizes. 

All  these  reflections  to  a  magistrate  so  conscientious 
as  M.  Gourbet  were  of  great  importance. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Savari  to  the  clerk,  when  the  reading 
was  terminated,  "  the  answers  which  I  have  had  the  honor 
to  make  to  the  examining  magistrate  have  been  inscribed 
by  you  with  the  most  perfect  accuracy.  I  have  nothing 
to  say  against  this  statement  and  I  sign  it  most  willingly." 

He  then  rose,  took  his  hat  from  the  mantel-piece  and 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  M.  Gourbet's  orders. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  judge,  visibly  ill  at  ease  and  a 
little  troubled  by  the  manner  of  the  prisoner,  u  I  shall 
have  to  examine  you  again,  and  meanwhile  I  am  obliged 
to  keep  you  under  arrest." 

Albert  Savari  made  no  answer,  but  simply  bowed  in 
silence. 

"  But,"  added  M.  Gourbet,  "  I  can  somewhat  alleviate 
your  position.   You  will  be  no  longer  in  close  confinement." 

"Oh!"  said  the  prisoner,  "I  don't  mind  that.  When 
one  has  reached  my  age  and  lived  the  life  I  have,  it  is  well 


62  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

to  be  able  to  be  quiet  and  think  over  one's  life.  Parisian 
existence  does  not  leave  us  a  moment  for  repose;  we 
are  constantly  tossed  about  in  the  whirlpool  of  business 
or  pleasure;  we  have  no  time  to  think,  only  time  to  act. 
My  captivity  will  rest  my  mind,  and  I  shall  leave  prison, 
I  hope,  less  nervous  and  feverish,  stronger  in  mind  and 
body.  So,  while  thanking  you  for  your  good  intentions, 
I  beg  you  not  to  carry  them  out.  Then,  I  must  confess, 
Monsieur,  that  I  anticipate  no  visit  from  any  one;  I  have 
no  intimate  friend,  and  none  of  my  acquaintance  will  put 
themselves  out  to  come  and  see  me,  I  am  sure.  Besides, 
I  shall  see  everybody  in  a  few  days,  when  I  am  released, 
and  that  will  be  soon  enough." 

"  As  you  please,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  judge,  saluting 
Savari,  in  his  turn,  to  indicate  to  him  that  their  interview 
was  ended.  Then,  turning  to  his  clerk,  "  Monsieur,"  he 
said,  "  tell  the  men  outside  that  the  prisoner  is  ready." 

Savari  comprehended  at  once  the  kindness  shown  him. 
He  was  allowed  to  leave  the  magistrate's  office  as  he  had 
entered  it,  as  a  visitor,  as  a  man  of  the  world,  and  not 
as  a  prisoner;  he  would  find  his  escort  of  gendarmes  in 
the  corridor.  He  bowed  in  recognition  of  the  courtesy, 
opened  the  door  himself,  and  disappeared. 

Then  Fedora  Vidal,  who  had  kept  her  promise  so  loyally, 
who  had  interrupted  by  no  word  or  gesture  the  examina- 
tion of  such  interest  to  herself,  rose,  threw  down  the  screen 
which  had  hidden  her,  and  advanced  pale  and  grave  toward 
M.  Gourbet. 

"When  she  was  two  steps  from  him  she  stopped,  and 
extending  her  arm  toward  the  door  through  which  Savari 
had  passed: 

"  The  man  who  has  just  gone  out  through  that  door, 
the  man  you  have  been  examining,"  she  cried,  "is  the 
murderer  of  my  husband  !  " 


IN  THE  BUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  63 


vni. 

Overwhelmed  with  surprise  at  hearing  this  energetic 
accusation  of  a  man  whom  he,  the  examining  magistrate, 
was  almost  disposed  to  believe  innocent,  M.  Gourbet  tried 
to  make  Fedora  Vidal  understand  that  her  sorrow  rendered 
her  unjust,  that  her  ardent  desire  to  avenge  her  husband 
blinded  her. 

To  all  his  arguments  she  answered  with  these  words: 

"  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  am  sure  I  am  not  mistaken." 

"  Did  you  notice,"  asked  the  judge,  "in  the  prisoner's 
attitude,  looks  or  words,  anything  which  escaped  me?" 

"  Nothing  in  particular." 

"  Then,  upon  what  do  you  base,  not  your  suspicions,  but 
your  conviction?" 

"Upon  nothing  and  upon  everything;  when  that  man 
entered  your  office,  I  felt  the  most  extraordinary  sensa- 
tion ;  when  he  spoke,  I  quivered  in  every  nerve.  Why,  if 
he  is  innocent,  should  he  cause  me  such  emotion  ?  You 
have  brought  me  before  two  other  suspected  men  and  I 
was  perfectly  calm.  This  Savari  is  strongly  connected- 
with  my  life.  I  have  suffered  through  him,  and  I  shall 
again.     I  am  certain  of  it!  " 

"  You  are  an  Italian,  Madame,  and  consequently  some- 
thing of  a  fatalist." 

"  Possibly,  Monsieur,  but  at  this  moment  I  am  logical- 
Whence  comes  the  terrible  feeling  that  overcame  me  at 
the  presence  of  a  person  I  had  never  seen,  never  known? 
He  is  guilty,  Monsieur;  I  tell  you  he  is  guilty! " 

And  her  gestures,  her  attitude,  the  tone  of  her  voice, 
her  sparkling  eyes,  all  combined  to  sustain  this  strange 
accusation.  .  She  looked  exceedingly  beautiful,  like  some 


64  FEDORA  t    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

priestess  of  ancient  Rome  denouncing  to  the  people  a 
profaner  of  the  Temple. 

While  M.  Gourbet  was  regarding  her  in  amazement 
and  wondering  how  he  could  calm  her  excitement,  an 
officer  entered  and  handed  him  a  paper. 

"Is  he  here?"  asked  the  judge,  with  a  rapid  glance  at 
the  document  given  him. 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"Admit  him." 

An  instant  afterward  the  door  opened  and  Vibert  en- 
tered.    In  his  letter  to  the  Marquis  de  X ,  peer  of 

France,  he  has  sketched  his  own  portrait,  so  we  need  not 
describe  him  again. 

"You  desired  to  speak  to  me?"  asked  the  magistrate 
as  the  agent  of  police  saluted  him  respectfully. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  I  have  come  to  place  myself  at  your 
orders  in  regard  to  the  assassination  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix." 

"  You  called  upon  Madame,  did  you  not? "  asked  the 
judge,  pointing  to  Fedora. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  but  I  was  not  received,"  replied  Vibert, 
regarding  Madame  Vidal  through  his  blue  glasses. 

"Are  you  acquainted  in  all  its  details  with  the  affair 
you  just  mentioned?" 

"Almost  so,  Monsieur;  I  was  one  of  the  first  to  enter 
the  apartment  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  a  short  time  after  the 
discovery  of  the  crime." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  remember;  did  not  the  commissary  of 
police  of  the  Tuileries  mention  you  in  his  report?  " 

"  He  may  have  done  so,  Monsieur." 

"  And  he  also  spoke,  it  seems  to  me,  of  certain  suspicions 
you  conceived  at  first." 

"  Suspicions  which  were  absurd  and  which  I  now  regret," 
replied  Vibert  quickly,  interrupting  the  judge  and  casting 
a  glance  full  of  repentance  at  Madame  Vidal.     "  Let  me 


IN  THE  HUE  DE   LA   TAIX.  65 

say  in  my  excuse  that  I  entertained  them  only  for  a 
second.     They  are  now  taking  quite  another  direction." 

"  Toward  whom?  " 

"  Toward  the  same  person  that  you  suspect,  Monsieur, 
since  you  had  him  arrested  yesterday." 

"  You  mean  Albert  Savari  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Here  is  the  report  of  the  examination  he  has  just 
undergone;  read  it  attentively." 

Vibert  sat  down  in  the  place  of  the  absent  clerk,  leaned 
his  elbows  on  the  table  with  his  head  in  his  hands  and 
was  soon  absorbed  in  his  occupation,  while  M.  Gourbet, 
seated  before  the  fire,  conversed  with  Fedora. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  asked  the  magis- 
trate, when  Vibert  rose  at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  speak  frankly?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  I  think  that  after  this  examination  it  is  impos- 
sible to  commit  him  for  trial." 

"I  am  of  your  opinion;  he  must  be  discharged." 

"  Unless  something  new  is  discovered,"  added  Vibert. 

"Do  you  know  anything?"  asked  the  judge  with 
interest. 

"  No,  Monsieur,  but  I  shall  seek,  and  I  shall  find  some- 
thing." 

"  If  you  are  sure  you  are  on  the  right  track,  and  Mon- 
sieur Savari  is  the  culprit,"  observed  M.  Gourbet. 

"He  is!  "  suddenly  cried  Madame  Vidal,  who  had  not 
lost  a  word  of  the  conversation. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  the  agent  of  police,  turning  quickly 
toward  Fedora,  "  Madame  is  convinced  of  the  guilt  of 
the  prisoner?" 

"  Convinced." 

"Bravo!  "  cried  Vibert,  forgetting  the  presence  of  the 
5 


66  fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

magistrate,  and  giving  full  vent  to  his  delight.  "  Bravo! " 
he  repeated,  "  Savari  is  lost;  I  am  certain  now  of  finding 
proofs  against  him!" 

M.  Gourbet  could  not  help  regarding  with  curiosity  this 
agent  of  police,  who  brought  enthusiasm  and  frankness 
to  the  exercise  of  a  profession  in  which  dissimulation  and 
coldness  are  ordinarily  employed. 

But  Vibert  soon  regained  his  self-control,  and,  striking 
his  forehead  as  if  he  had  an  idea,  said: 

"  You  probably  remarked,  Monsieur,  during  the  exam- 
ination, that  you  had  no  ordinary  man  to  deal  with." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  M.  Gourbet.  "  Innocent  or  guilty, 
Savari  is  a  remarkably  clever  man." 

"  Then,"  continued  Vibert,  "  we  shall  gain  nothing  by 
keeping  him  in  prison." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  a  man  of  his  force  of  character  will  not  be  af- 
fected by  a  few  days'  or  even  weeks'  confinement.  And  he 
certainly  will  not  impart  his  confidence  to  any  fellow-pris- 
oner. It  sometimes  happens  that  a  common  criminal  finds 
in  jail  some  old  comrade  and  confides  in  him;  some  com- 
rade who  has  become  a  police  spy,  and  in  this  way  impor- 
tant revelations  are  obtained.  But  nothing  of  that  sort  can 
happen  in  this  case.  Savari  will  not  meet  at  the  Concier- 
gerie,  or  any  other  prison,  any  person  of  his  acquaintance." 

"  What  do  you  advise,  then  ?  "  asked  M.  Gourbet. 

"  I  should  advise,  Monsieur,  if  you  will  deign  to  allow 
me  to  offer  advice,  that  the  prisoner  be  immediately  set 
at  liberty." 

"  And  then  what  do  you  hope  for  ?  Will  he  betray 
himself  any  the  more  because  he  is  free?" 

"  There  is  certainly  more  chance  of  his  doing  so." 

"  But  suppose  that,  alarmed  by  what  has  happened  to 
him  and  fearing  to  be  arrested  again,  he  takes  to  flight?" 


IN  THE  RUE   DE  LA  PAIX.  67 

"That is  not  probable,  Monsieur;  if  he  had  been  going 
to  fly,  he  would  have  done  so  immediately  after  having 
committed  the  crime,  supposing  he  did  commit  it.  He 
must  have  counted  on  his  coolness  and  cleverness  to 
baffle  all  your  efforts.  He  will  have  even  more  confidence 
in  himself,  after  having  fallen  into  the  hands  of  justice 
and  escaped.  Savari,  moreover,  is  one  of  those  thorough 
Parisians  to  whom  Paris  is  indispensable,  who  can  not 
live  elsewhere,  and  who  brave  all  sorts  of  danger  rather 
than  expatriate  themselves.  It  is  not  only  in  his  case 
that  we  can  perceive  this;  how  many  malefactors,  who 
would  be  perfectly  safe  abroad,  or  even  elsewhere  in 
France,  risk  their  liberty  and  sometimes  their  head,  to 
come  and  breathe  the  air  of  Paris,  so  necessary  to  their 
lungs!  Still,  supposing  Savari  to  be  guilty,  I  would  bet 
my  life  this  is  the  way  he  reasoned:  '  I  have  committed 
a  crime  which  can  send  me  to  the  scaffold;  what  line  of 
conduct  shall  I  pursue?  Shall  I  fly?  But  that  would  be 
a  confession  of  my  guilt.  If  I  am  captured,  which  is 
possible,  I  am  lost.  If  I  am  not,  I  shall  lead  a  wretched 
life  among  foreigners  and  without  means  of  existence.  It 
is  much  better  to  remain  and  run  the  risk  of  being 
arrested;  I  have  enough  intelligence  to  take  care  of  my- 
self.' And  this  is  what  he  did.  Now,"  continued  Vibert, 
after  having  taken  breath,  for,  filled  with  his  subject,  he 
had  spoken  with  great  volubility,  "  after  the  prisoner  is 
set  at  liberty,  I  propose  to  subject  him  to  the  strictest 
surveillance;  I  shall  take  charge  of  this  myself  and  see 
that  he  can  not  suspect  it." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  the  prisoner  is  free. 
But  what  is  your  plan?" 

"My  plan?  Oh!  Monsieur,  I  must  have  time  to 
arrange  that.  But  I  feel  here,"  he  added,  striking  his 
forehead,  "  I  feel  here  that  it  will  succeed." 


68  FEDORA  :   OR,   THE  TRAGEDY 

M.  Gourbet  regarded  Vibert  attentively.  His  usually 
pale  face  was  flushed,  his  eyes  sparkled  under  his  glasses, 
his  figure  was  erect,  and  he  seemed  convinced  of  what  he 
said  and  sure  of  himself. 

The  magistrate,  with  his  great  experience  of  men,  saw 
at  once  that  there  was  before  him  one  of  those  agents  of 
police  who  love  their  profession  and  who  can  render  ines- 
timable services  to  society,  if  properly  employed.  He 
therefore  resolved  to  make  use  of  so  valuable  an  ally.  It 
is  not  the  habit  of  examining  magistrates  to  deal  directly 
with  agents  of  police  and  to  charge  them  with  special 
missions;  but,  in  this  particular  case,  M.  Gourbet  thought 
he  need  not  conform  to  custom. 

"  So,  you  answer  for  your  success? "  he  asked  of  the 
Marquis  de  X 's  protege. 

"  If  Savari  is  guilty,"  replied  Vibert,  without  hesita- 
tion, "  I  promise  to  bring  you  proofs  of  his  guilt;  but 
upon  certain  conditions." 

"  Name  them,"  said  the  judge. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  replied  the  agent,  "  he  must  be  set 
at  liberty  by  to-morrow." 

"Agreed." 

"  Notices  should  be  sent  to  the  different  judicial  journals 
announcing  this  fact.  You  must  appear  to  regret  Savari's 
arrest  and  state  that  you  became  convinced  of  his  inno- 
cence after  a  single  examination.  This  will  prevent  his 
suspecting  anything;  he  will  believe  himself  entirely 
free  and  he  will  be  less  guarded  in  his  words  and  ac- 
tions." 

"  I  approve  your  idea,"  said  M.  Gourbet,  who  could 
not  help  admiring  the  agent's  sagacity.  "  And  after 
that?  " 

"  Ah!  Monsieur,  then  comes  the  most  difficult  point. 
I  desire  to  have  entire  carte  blanche  in  this  matter,  to  be 


IN  THE  KITE  DE  LA  PAIX.  69 

subject  for  some  time  to  no  control,  to  be  hampered  by  no 
order  from  the  courts  or  the  prefecture,  and  to  be  able  to 
command  such  money  as  may  be  necessary,  if,  in  order  not 
to  lose  sight  of  the  accused,  I  shall  have  to  indulge  in  a 
certain  luxury." 

"  I  will  communicate  your  requests  to  the  authorities, 
and  I  hope  they  will  be  granted." 

"  Then,  Monsieur,"  said  Vibert,  "  I  have  only  to  retire 
and  await  your  decision;  if  it  is  favorable  to  me,  I  shall 
arrange  my  plan  of  action,  and  proceed  at  once  to  put  it 
into  execution." 

He  spoke  these  words  in  the  confident  tone  of  a  gen- 
eral setting  out  on  an  important  expedition  and  taking 
leave  of  the  minister  of  war.  Then,  turning  to  Fedora, 
who  had  listened  in  silence  to  the  preceding  conversation, 
and  in  whose  eyes  Vibert,  by  his  assurance  and  promises, 
had  assumed  gigantic  proportions,  he  said: 

"  Madame,  it  will  perhaps  be  necessary  for  me  to  con- 
sult you;  will  you  give  orders  to  have  me  admitted  at 
your  house?" 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Madame  Vidal,  "  I  will  see  you 
whenever  you  choose  to  come." 

Vibert  bowed  and  disappeared  noiselessly,  while  Fedora 
took  leave  of  the  judge. 


IX. 

The  various  requests  made  by  Vibert  were  doubtless 
granted,  for,  the  next  day,  the  following  notice  appeared 
in  the  Court  Gazette : 

"  M.  Albert  S ,  whom  we  announced  yesterday  as 

being  implicated  in  the  assassination  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix, 


70  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

and  who  was  arrested,  was  immediately  set  at  liberty 
after  an  examination  in  which  no  shadow  of  proof  appeared 
against  him.  Moreover,  certain  information  has  reached 
us  that  the  officers  of  justice  know  who  the  real  culprit 
is;  he  has  fled  abroad,  but  he  will  certainly  be  discovered 
and  delivered  up  to  the  authorities,  as  extradition  is 
always  easily  obtained  in  cases  of  murder.  Our  readers 
can  rest  assured  that  we  shall  keep  them  informed  of  all 
news  that  reaches  us,  unless  it  be  of  a  nature  to  hamper 
the  action  of  justice,  if  made  public." 

This  notice  was  believed  to  be  sincere,  and  the  opposi- 
tion newspapers  did  not  let  slip  so  fine  an  opportunity  of 
giving  a  slap  at  the  Government.  They  were  full  of  pity 
for  Savari  and  spoke  of  him  as  the  sad  victim  of  another 
judicial  error. 

In  Paris  the  slightest  events  often  assume  gigantic  pro- 
portions. For  a  week  Savari  was  a  political  personage,  a 
martyr.  His  forty-eight  hours  detention  was  as  much 
deplored  as  if  he  had  spent  twenty  years  in  prison;  his 
case  was  even  compared  to  that  of  Lesurques. 

The  Natiotial  published  a  leading  article  on  the  sub- 
ject, which  created  a  profound  sensation. 

Among  the  other  papers  relating  to  this  matter,  we 
find  this  article,  and  will  reproduce  it  verbatim: 

"  A  citizen  is  seated  tranquilly  at  his  fireside,  his  feet 
in  his  slippers,  thinking  over  the  events  of  the  day;  sud- 
denly a  loud  knocking  is  heard  at  his  door,  his  home  is 
invaded,  his  desk  forced  open  and  his  private  papers  read. 
A  man  in  uniform,  assisted  by  supernumeraries,  directs 
this  proceeding.  And  if  the  citizen,  whose  abode  is  thus 
violated,  demands  the  reason  of  the  outrage,  he  is 
answered  that  it  is  none  of  his  business,  that  it  will  be 
explained  to  him  by  the  proper  authorities.  If  he 
becomes   angry,  and,  knowing  his  innocence,  dares  to 


IN  THE  RUB  DE  LA   PALX.  71 

resist  the  man  in  uniform,  he  is  immediately  overpowered, 
handcuffed,  thrown  into  a  cab,  driven  off  to  prison,  where  he 
is  searched,  his  pockets  emptied  and  his  name  inscribed 
in  a  register,  and  then,  without  the  least  explanation 
being  vouchsafed  him,  he  is  shut  up  in  a  cell,  in  close  con- 
finement. Close  confinement!  A  method  of  torture 
destined  to  weaken  his  intelligence  and  to  crush  his  brain 
as  the  rack  crushes  the  body! 

u  He  remains  twenty-four  hours,  often  forty-eight,  with- 
out being  examined.  Forty-eight  hours — a  century! 
And  during  this  century,  he  sees  "no  one;  he  wonders  if  he 
is  dreaming — if  he  is  sane! 

"Finally,  they  remember  him;  gendarmes  escort  him 
through  sombre  corridors,  and  he  finds  himself  before  an 
examining  magistrate. 

"  \  Monsieur,'  says  the  latter  to  him,  *  you  are  accused  of 
having  assassinated  Monsieur  X .' 

"  <  Monsieur  X ?  I!  When?  ' 

"  '  A  week  ago.' 

"'Where?' 

" '  In  the  Rue  Dauphine.' 

" '  But  a  week  ago,  Monsieur,  I  was  at  Marseilles  with 
my  family.  Everybody  can  bear  witness  to  that.  I  had 
just  arrived  in  Paris  when  I  was  arrested  by  your 
orders.' 

" '  What?  How?  You  can  prove  an  alibi?  Why  did 
you  not  say  so  before?' 

"'Before?  To  whom?  Was  I  questioned?  No!  I 
was  simply  locked  up ! ' 

"'Monsieur,  if  you  speak  the  truth,  you  will  soon  be 
set  at  liberty.' 

" '  That  is  only  my  due.  But  you  owe  me  more  than 
that.' 

"'What  do  you  mean? 


72  FEDORA  I   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

" '  Who  will  indemnify  me  for  the  tortures  I  have  suf- 
fered? for  the  disgrace  attached  to  my  name?  for  the  loss 
occasioned  by  my  absence  from  my  business?  And  how 
about  my  children,  who  have  seen  their  father  dragged  to 
prison?  and  my  aged  mother,  whom  the  least  emotion 
may  kill,  and  who  is  perhaps  dead  now?  What  do  you 
think  of  ail  that,  Monsieur?  Do  you  believe  that  you  are 
quits  with  me  when  you  say:  We  were  mistaken;  you  can 
return  home?' 

"  '  Monsieur,  we  thought  you  guilty,  there  were  proofs 
against  you,  and  we  only  did  our  duty.' 

u  '  No,  Monsieur,  instead  of  issuing  a  warrant  of  arrest, 
you  should  have  simply  summoned  me  to  appear  before 
you.' 

" '  And  suppose,  knowing  yourself  guilty,  you  had  fled? ' 

"  •  I  should  have  been  taken,  unquestionably.  It  is 
too  often  forgotten  in  France  that  a  suspected  man  is 
not  necessarily  guilty,  that  he  has  rights,  and  that  instead 
of  dragging  him  before  a  magistrate,  the  magistrate 
should  examine  him  at  his  own  house,  and  then  have 
him  arrested,  if  necessary,  after  the  examination.' 

"  '  Monsieur,  we  often  do  that.' 

"  *  Monsieur,  you  should  always  do  it.'  " 

*  ****** 

All  these  articles  delighted  Vibert. 

"  Savari,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  will  never  imagine  that 
he  is  any  longer  suspected  or  that  he  is  watched.  He  will 
forget  his  caution,  make  some  false  step,  and  I  shall 
pinch  him  !  " 

Then  the  agent  of  police  smiled,  moistened  his  lips, 
and  rubbed  his  hands. 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  73 


X. 

Three  days  after  Albert  Savari's  examination,  a  man 
of  about  thirty,  rather  well  dressed,  wearing  an  eyeglass, 
with  several  foreign  decorations  on  his  breast  and  carrying 
a  cane,  rang  at  Madame  Vidal's  door. 

Marietta  opened  it. 

"I  would  like  to  speak  to  your  mistress,"  said  the 
unknown. 

"  It  is  only  nine  o'clock,"  replied  Marietta,  "  Madame 
does  not  receive  so  early." 

"  My  business  is  urgent." 

"  Who  are  you?" 

"  Your  mistress  does  not  know  my  name;  tell  her  that 
I  am  the  person  she  met  in  M.  Gourbet's  office." 

"  Oh  1  that  is  different,"  cried  Marietta;  "  Madame  has 
spoken  to  me  of  you  and  told  me  to  admit  you  whenever 
you  came." 

She  opened  wide  the  door,  which  she  had  hitherto 
prudently  kept  half  closed,  and  motioned  the  man  to  enter. 

But  as  she  was  about  to  usher  him  into  the  salon, 
she  paused:  "You  probably  desire  to  be  seen  only  by 
Madame,"  she  said. 

"If  possible." 

"There  are  some  people  waiting  in  the  study;  since 
Monsieur  Vidal's  death  we  have  been  overrun  with  law- 
yers and  notaries." 

"  I  will  wait  in  the  dining  room." 

"  No,  they  would  all  see  you  as  they  went  out.  Follow 
me." 

She  crossed  a  little  entry,  opened  a  door,  and  said: 

"I  will  inform  Madame  of  your  call;  she  will  join  you 
as  soon  as  she  is  at  liberty." 


74  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Vibert  (the  reader  has  already  recognized  him),  when 
he  was  alone,  cast  a  curious  glance  about  him.  He  was 
in  an  elegantly  furnished  dressing  room;  one  of  those 
charming,  perfumed  retreats,  to  be  found  only  in  Paris. 
In  general,  the  life  of  a  Parisian  is  passed  outside  his  own 
home;  he  is  entertained  more  than  he  entertains;  he  is 
only  on  rare  occasions  found  in  his  drawing  room;  he 
rises,  dresses  and  hastens  to  his  business;  he  returns, 
dresses  again,  and  hastens  to  his  amusements.  Of  all  his 
rooms,  he  uses  his  dressing  room  the  most,  and  therefore 
he  takes  pains  to  make  it  attractive.  The  bureau  is 
resplendent  with  magnificent  porcelain,  and  sometimes 
silver,  basins,  bottles  of  all  kinds,  superb  boxes,  ivory 
brushes  of  all  sizes.  Upon  the  mantel-piece  an  elegant 
clock,  Sevres  vases,  an  alabaster  statuette,  a  Venetian 
mirror;  and,  scattered  here  and  there,  a  traveling-bag,  a 
glove-box,  a  fan,  a  cravat,  an  opera  glass,  a  Russia  leather 
cigar  case,  an  open  book.  We  are  happy  in  the  midst  of 
the  strange  confusion  and  elegant  disorder;  we  have  close 
to  our  hand  all  the  objects  we  need,  we  feel  at  home,  at 
ease,  and  enjoy  our  dolcefar  niente,  in  a  dressing  gown 
and  a  pair  of  slippers. 

Maurice  Vidal,  when  a  bachelor,  had  known  the  enjoy- 
ment which  a  well  furnished  dressing  room  gives,  and 
when  he  married,  he  himself  saw  to  the  furnishing  of  this 
room  and  decorated  it  with  the  thousand  little  nothings 
he  had  been  able  to  pick  up.  It  was  perhaps  a  boudoir 
and  a  museum,  rather  than  a  dressing  room,  but  it  was  a 
charming  place. 

Seated  in  a  luxurious  arm-chair,  his  cane  and  hat  in 
his  lap,  Vibert,  while  waiting  for  Madame  Vidal,  gazed 
with  all  his  eyes.  This  sober,  almost  austere  man, 
simple  by  temperament  and  for  economy's  sake,  had 
never  been  in  such  a  room  before.     In   the   performance 


IN  THE  RTTE  DE  LA  PAIX,  75 

of  his  duty  as  secretary  to  a  commissary  of  police,  he 
had  often  been  obliged  to  visit  some  handsome  house;  he 
had  entered  some  glittering  salon,  but  he  had  never 
penetrated  to  the  private  apartments  of  an  elegant, 
well-bred  woman.  It  was  a  complete  revolution  to  him, 
he  was  astonished,  surprised,  delighted,  like  a  child  with 
a  new  toy,  like  an  honest  woman  whom  curiosity  has  led 
to  go  to  an  opera-ball,  like  a  countryman  introduced  for 
the  first  time  behind  the  scenes  of  a  theatre.  He  rose 
and  examined  the  marvelous  things  scattered  about  him. 
A  thousand  odors  greeted  him;  a  sachet,  an  open  cologne 
bottle,  a  Russia  leather  pocket-book,  a  sandal  wood  fan, 
all  wafted  their  odors  toward  him.  He  gradually  lost  his 
head,  and  forgot  the  business  which  had  brought  him 
there. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  Vibert  was  recalled  to 
a  sense  of  his  duties. 

It  was  Marietta,  who  had  come  to  conduct  him  to 
Madame  Vidal. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Fedora,  as  soon  as  he  appeared,  "  I 
regret  to  have  kept  you  waiting  so  long  ;  but  I  desired  to 
be  completely  free  to  receive  you.  I  am  now  entirely  at 
your  service. 

"Did  you  read  last  evening's  newpapers,  Madame?" 
said  Vibert,  sitting  down,  and  without  further  preamble. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  and  I  saw  that  Albert  Savari 
had  been  set  at  liberty." 

"  Exactly.     M.  Gourbet  decided  to  listen  to  my  advice." 

"What  do  you  hope  for  now?" 

"  Much,  if  you  will  aid  me." 

"I?" 

"Yes,  you,  Madame." 

"Ah!  Monsieur!"  exclaimed  Fedora;  "is  not  my  sole 
aim  in  life  to  fulfill  the  last  wishes  of  my  husband?  to 


76  FEDORA  :   OK,  THE  TRAGEDY 

avenge  him  ?  I  have  been  told  to  trust  you,  I  do  trust 
you,  and  I  am  yours  heart  and  soul." 

"Then,  Madame,  we  shall  succeed!"  cried  Vibert  joy- 
ously. "We  shall  succeed!"  he  added,  taking  Fedora's 
hands  in  his  and  pressing  them  warmly. 

She  allowed  him  to  do  so,  without  manifesting  any  as- 
tonishment or  resistance.  Vibert  was  to  her  not  a  man, 
nor  an  agent  of  police ;   he  was  an  ally,  an  avenger. 

They  sat  down  opposite  one  another,  and  Vibert  con- 
tinued: 

"  After  three  days'  reflection,  do  you  still  b3lieve  Albert 
Savari  to  be  your  husband's  assassin  ?  " 

"  I  still  believe  it.     Do  you?  " 

"  Yes.  I  even  say  that  my  doubts  have  become  a 
certainty;  but  a  purely  moral  certainty,  and  you  must  be 
aware  that  we  need  material  proofs." 

"Have  you  discovered  a  way  of  procuring  them?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  need  your  aid." 

"You  shall  have  it." 

"  Remember  that  you  will  need  great  strength." 

"I  have  it." 

"  And  great  patience." 

"  I  will  try  to  have  that."  • 

"  You  will  have  to  overcome  a  natural  repugnance  to 
many  things." 

"  I  will  do  so,  if  necessary." 

"Finally,  the  plan  which  I  have  conceived  will  ap- 
pear odious  to  you,  mad,  horrible;  you  will  refuse  it,  at 
first." 

"What  matters  that,  if  I  afterward  adopt  it  and  it 
succeeds?" 

**  Listen,  then." 

"Goon." 

And  in  order  not  to  lose  a  word,  she  came  and  sat  down 


IN  THE   EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  77 

beside  Vibert  on  the  sofa.     One  would  have  said  they 
were  two  lovers,  about  to  exchange  tender  confidences. 

"  You  must  know  in  the  first  place,  Madame,"  said  Vibert, 
after  reflecting  a  moment,  "  that  I  have  not  lost  sight  of 
Albert  Savari  since  he  left  prison.  I  was  told,  at  my  request, 
of  the  hour  at  which  he  would  be  set  at  liberty,  and  I  wait- 
ed outside  the  Conciergerie.  As  soon  as  he  appeared  he 
hailed  a  cab;  I  followed  him,  and  for  three  days  none  of 
his  actions  have  been  unknown  to  me.  At  this  moment, 
one  of  my  men,  dressed  as  a  messenger,  is  watching  his 
house.  You  see,  he  can  not  escape  us.  But,  while  keep- 
ing up  this  active  surveillance,  I  have  been  occupied  with 
other  no  less  important  matters,  which  may  be  of  service 
to  us;  I  have  become  thoroughly  acquainted  with  Albert 
Savari's  past  life.  The  result  is,  and  pardon,  Madame, 
the  crudity  of  certain  details  I  am  obliged  to  give,  the 
result  is  that  I  have  discovered  that  Albert  Savari  has 
never,  during  his  whole  existence,  been  seriously  in  love." 

"What  difference  does  that  make  to  us?"  exclaimed 
Fedora. 

"  Much,  Madame,"  replied  the  agent  of  police,  "  you 
will  be  convinced,  if  you  will  listen  to  me  attentively." 

"  Continue,  Monsieur." 

"Savari,  I  say,  has  never  been  seriously  in  love;  he 
has  spent  his  life,  like  many  young  men  of  this  generation, 
here,  there  and  everywhere;  his  imagination  has  often 
been  taken,  but  his  heart  has  never  been  touched.  I 
do  not  know  if  I  am  succeeding  in  making  myself  under- 
stood, Madame." 

"  Perfectly,  Monsieur,"  replied  Fedora,  astonished  at 
the  manner  in  which  this  singular  agent  of  police  ex- 
pressed himself,  for  she  was  ignorant  of  certain   details 

of  Vibert's  life,  which  his  letter  to  the  Marquis  de  X 

has  acquainted  us  with. 


78  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"  One  woman  alone,  of  whom  mention  was  made  in  his 
examination,"  continued  Vibert,  "has  played  any  particular 
part  in  Albert  Savari's  existence,  a  woman  named  Pelagie 
d'Ermont,  who  for  a  long  time  enjoyed  great  celebrity, 
but  who  is  now  past  her  prime.  She  has  been  unwilling, 
however,  to  give  up  the  luxury  to  which  she  had  been 
accustomed,  and  she  has  recourse  to  a  business  much 
practiced  among  women  of  her  class;  she  gives  tea  parties." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  interrupted  Fedora. 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,  Madame,  you  can  not  be  acquainted 
with  all  our  Parisian  customs.  A  woman  who  gives  tea 
parties  gathers  together  at  her  house,  once  or  twice  a 
week,  a  few  of  the  youngest  and  prettiest  women  among 
her  friends.  Then  she  issues  invitations  to  all  the  men 
of  her  acquaintance,  something  like  this:  '  You  will  meet 
Cora'  and  pretty  Olympe  ;  come  then  and  bring  your 
friends.'  So  the  friends  come,  and  the  friends  of  the 
friends.  They  talk,  laugh,  drink  tea;  then  one  of  these 
ladies  proposes  a  little  lansquenet.  Oh  !  a  very  small 
game;  the  stakes  not  to  exceed  five  francs.  'Come  and 
sit  by  me,'  says  Olympe  to  a  very  young  man,  of  whom 
she  has  made  a  conquest;  '  come,  I  will  bring  you  luck 
and  you  will  win  all  the  time.'  The  young  man  sits 
down,  his  friends  follow  his  example;  they  take  a  louis 
from  their  purse  and  lose  it;  then  another,  which  follows 
the  first.  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  stakes, 
which  were  not  to  exceed  five  francs,  are  fifty  or  a 
hundred  francs.  Bank  notes  have  succeeded  louis.  At 
five  o'clock  neither  bank  notes  nor  louis  are  to  be  seen 
on  the  table;  every  one  says  he  has  lost,  and  yet  all  the 
money  has  disappeared.  In  place  of  money  they  play 
with  counters.  At  eleven  o'clock,  tired  out,  they  finally 
stop.  There  are  losses  of  three,  five,  ten  thousand  francs. 
As  for  the  mistress  of  the  house,  she  went  to  bed  about 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  79 

five  o'clock,  after  having  slipped  into  her  capacious 
pockets,  all  the  gold  and  bank  notes  once  in  circulation, 
and  which  serve  to  pay  for  the  tea  so  generously  offered." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Fedora,  who  had  listened  atten- 
tively to  Vibert. 

"But,"  he  continued,  "among  the  men  recruited  by 
the  lady  in  question,  are  some  who  are  more  intimate  in 
the  house.  These  have  long  been  familiar  with  the 
practices  in  vogue  there ;  they  are  not  ignorant  of  what 
is  meant  by  the  words,  *  the  stakes  will  be  five  francs. 
They  know  that  it  is  prudent  not  to  bet  when  Cora  is 
banking,  and  that  they  must  be  wary  when  Olympe  deals 
the  cards.  They  know  also  when  the  time  comes  for 
them  to  gain  an  advantage'  in  their  turn,  and  they  make 
use  of  the  opportunity.  So,  without  absolutely  cheating, 
they  rarely  lose,  and  they  never  fail  to  receive  invitations 
from  the  mistress  of  the  house,  for  they  know  how  to 
bring  in  players  and  make  the  game  larger.  These  last 
details  will  explain  to  you  sufficiently,"  added  Vibert 
in  conclusion,  "  the  nature  of  the  relations  existing  be- 
tween Savari  and  Pelagie  d'Ermont;  it  is  simply  a  matter 
of  mutual  interest.  I  was  therefore  right  when  I  said 
to  you  in  the  beginning,  Savari  has  never  had  a  serious 
love  affair;  since  the  only  one  that  he  was  supposed  to 
have  never  existed." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  all  this,"  asked  Fedora, 
impatient  at  not  being  able  to  see  what  the  agent  of 
police  was  driving  at. 

"I  mean,"  said  Vibert,  "that,  if  he  has  never  loved, 
he  must  be  more  susceptible  to  love  than  any  one  else." 

"Well  !  whom  do  you  wish  him  to  fall  in  love  with?" 

"  With  you,  Madame." 

"  Me  ! " 

"Yes,  you!" 


80  fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  Me  !  "  repeated  Fedora,  who  thought  she  had  misun- 
derstood. 

"  That  is  the  only  way  we  can  arrive  at  the  truth. 
Savari  does  not  know  you,  and  can  not  suspect  you.  You 
must  form  a  part  of  his  life,  gain  his  confidence,  and 
sooner  or  later  you  will  unmask  him.  With  such  an 
adversary  as  ours,"  continued  Vibert,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Fedora,  who  had  not  yet  recovered  from  her  astonish- 
ment, "  ordinary  means  could  not  succeed  ;  something 
out  of  the  way,  and  extraordinary,  was  needed;  I  sought 
for  it  and  I  think  I  have  found  it.  You  will  be  the 
Delilah  of  this  new  Samson,  you  will  cut  his  locks  and 
deliver  him  up  to  the  Philistines." 

"  But  this  plan  is  a  mad  one  !  "  cried  Fedora. 

"  I  know  it." 

"  It  is  impracticable." 

"  No,  with  your  aid,  I  will  guarantee  putting  it  into 
execution." 

"  I  should  need  superhuman  courage." 

M  You  have  it." 

"  I  should  betray  myself." 

*  Never  !  If  you  adopt  my  plan,  you  will  have  but  one 
thought,  to  make  it  succeed.  It  is  Savari  who  will  be- 
tray himself,  and  your  husband  will  be  avenged." 

And  as  Fedora,  pale,  feverish  and  agitated,  made  no 
answer,  Vibert  rose,  took  his  hat  and  cane  from  the  corner 
in  which  he  had  placed  them  and  advanced  toward  the  door. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  come  again  to  see  you 
to-morrow  at  the  same  hour;  if  you  tell  me,  as  I  hope, 
that  you  adopt  my  plan,  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  unfold- 
ing it  to  you  more  completely." 

"  But — "  exclaimed  Fedora,  with  a  gesture  to  detain 
the  agent  of  police. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said,  and  retired. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PALX.  81 


XI. 


In  the  last  part  of  October,  the  Marquis  de  X- 


letter  from  whom  we  have  already  given  to  our  readers, 
wrote  to  his  protege,  Vibert: 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  boy,  what  you  tell  me  in  your  last 
missive  excites,  I  confess,  my  curiosity.  I  was  terribly 
bored,  and  you  have  roused  me  a  little.  It  is  a  good  thing 
for  you,  and  if  you  continue  to  interest  me,  I  shall  end  by 
making  my  will  in  your  favor  and  cutting  off  my  nephew, 
a  great  idiot,  who  recently  dared  to  parade  his  liberal 
ideas  before  me ! 

"  Yes,  he  even  dared  to  tell  me  to  my  face  that  I  was 
behind  the  age.  Morbleu!  those  words  may  cost  him  two 
or  three  millions.  Behind  the  age  !  Why?  Because  I 
say  Jardin  du  Roi  instead  of  Jardin  des  Plantes,  and  Rue 
d'Artois  instead  of  Rue  Lafitte. 

"  Behind  the  age  !  I  !  I  am  not  only  on  a  level  with 
the  age,  but  beyond  it,  and  I  should  not  be  afraid  to  pre- 
dict a  few  things  to  him.  Perhaps  he  will  tell  me  I  am 
right  some  day,  if  God  spares  his  life,  which  is  not 
probable,  considering  his  premature  emaciation  and  de- 
crepitude. He  is  up  with  the  age;  no  one  can  deny 
that! 

"  But  there,  I  am  prating  to  you  of  family  matters. 
Am  I  in  my  dotage,  or  am  I  indeed —  But,  enough  of 
this! 

"  I  have  reflected  much  on  the  plan  you  have  conceived 
and  communicated  to  me.  Well !  between  ourselves,  it 
is  absurd,  impossible,  stupid,  but — it  will  succeed,  for  all 
that. 

u  Ah  !  if  your  beautiful  widow  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix 
were  a  Parisian,  I  should  say  to  you  :  Bernique,  my  good 

6 


82  FEDORA  !    OR,   THE  TRAGEDY 

friend,  she  is  incapable  of  carrying  out  such  an  enterprise, 
she  will  overthrow  all  your  calculations  when  you  least 
expect  it.  But  she  is  an  Italian,  an  Italian  of  the  North, 
a  Genoese  ;  one  can  trust  those  women  ;  they  have  not 
yet  degenerated  like  many  of  their  countrywomen,  and 
like  all  of  ours.  They  are  not  dolls,  but  women,  real 
women!  Go  on  with  your  plan,  you  will  succeed,  it  is  I 
who  tell  you  so.  She  will  deliver  into  your  hands  this 
Savari,  she  will  turn  him  inside  out  ;  there  will  not  be  a 
morsel  left  of  him.  Your  idea  of  comparing  them  to 
Delilah  and  Samson  was  a  happy  one.  Mordieu  !  for  a 
man  of  your  time,  you  are  not  so  bad,  and  you  deserve 
to  have  lived  under  the  old  regime. 

"  But  tell  me,  has  she  accepted  this  plan  which  you 
have  submitted  to  her?  Your  last  letter  stopped  at  the 
most  interesting  point,  as  if  you  were  writing  a  contin- 
ued story  for  a  weekly  newspaper  ;  another  charming 
invention  of  modern  times  !  Quick,  quick,  write  me  a 
line  to  tell  me  what  took  place  at  your  next  interview 
with  her.  At  my  age,  alas  !  one  can  no  longer  live  for 
one's  self;  help  me  to  live  the  life  of  others.  You  will  not 
regret  it,  Monsieur ;  men  of  my  stamp  do  not  forget 
services  rendered  them  ;  ingratitude  is  of  modern  in- 
vention. 

"  Postscript. — This  Government  of  July  is  a  wretched 
affair;  it  is  as  poor  as  Job's  cat,  besides.  The  life  you 
must  lead,  perhaps,  will  cause  you  great  expense,  for 
which  you  will  not  be  indemnified,  believe  me,  despite  the 
promise  given  you.  Draw  upon  me;  don't  be  afraid;  I 
am  not  very  anxious  to  save  up  money  for  my  rascal  of 
a  nephew.  Behind  the  age,  I !  The  imbecile  !  as  much 
as  to  say  that  I  am  an  old  fogy.  By  Heaven  !  he  shall 
pay  for  it !  " 

Vibert  hastened  to  reply  : 


IN  THE   RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  83 

"  My  Dear  Marquis  :  I  arrived  day  before  yesterday 
at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  at  Madame  Vidal's,  as  I 
told  her  I  should  the  previous  day.  This  time  I  was  not 
kept  waiting.    She  came  in  immediately,  and  said  quickly  : 

"  'I  have  reflected,  and  since  there  is  no  other  way,  I 
think  that  I  ought  to  accept  your  plan.' 

"  '  Very  well,  Madame,'  I  replied. 

"  Then,  without  losing  more  time,  we  sat  down  and 
discussed  a  host  of  details. 

"  Two  hours  afterward  I  left  her,  and  at  once  set  to 
work.  I  had  to  study  the  position  of  the  enemy,  so  as 
to  come  up  with  him  as  soon  as  possible  and  attack  him 
to  advantage. 

"In  my  last  letter,  M.  le  Marquis,  I  had  the  honor  of 
mentioning  to  you  a  certain  Pelagie  d'Ermont,  once  a 
married  woman  in  good  society,  but  now  an  adventuress. 
I  told  you  that  she  was  intimate  with  Albert  Savari,  and 
I  explained  to  you  the  nature  of  their  relations.  It  is 
this  Madame  d'Ermont  whom  I  proposed  first  to  become 
acquainted  with;  in  her  house,  if  my  plans  should  succeed, 
Madame  Vidal  and  Savari  will  meet  for  the  first  time. 

u  This  is  how  I  went  to  work  to  obtain  my  end  : 

"  Yesterday,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  I  rang  the 
bell  of  Madame  d'Ermont's  house,  No.  10  Rue  Blanche. 
If  you  had  met  me,  believe  me,  Monsieur  le  Marquis, 
despite  all  your  cleverness  and  your  rare  qualities  of 
observation,  you  would  never  have  known  me.  I  was 
quite  another  man  ;  I  was  gotten  up  as  a  foreigner,  a 
well-bred  man,  but  a  simpleton.  Just  the  man  to  impress 
the  woman  I  was  going  to  see  with  this  thought:  what  a 
good  pigeon  to  pluck  ! 

"This  was  my  toilet:  a  frock  coat,  black  cravat,  gray 
trousers,  lavender  gloves,  a  high  hat,  varnished  boots,  a 
gold  chain,  a  diamond  pin  in  my  cravat,  another  diamond 


84  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

on  my  right  hand  which  I  kept  ungloved,  a  stick  with  a 
gold  knob  surrounded  with  turquoises. 

"You  see,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  it  was  at  once  the  get- 
up  of  a  rich  man  and  a  foreigner  unacquainted  with  our 
ideas.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  the  diamonds  and  tur- 
quoises were  imitation. 

"'Is  Madame  visible?'  I  asked. 

" '  I  don't  know,  Monsieur.  Will  Monsieur  give  me 
his  name?'  answered  a  sleepy  looking  maid. 

"  I  pretended  not  to  understand  at  first,  as  if  I  were 
not  accustomed  to  the  French  language;  then  I  answered 
with  a  pronounced  Italian  accent: 

"  '  Your  mistress  would  not  know  my  name,  but  I  am 
recommended  to  her  by  many  of  her  friends.  I  have  just 
arrived  from  Naples,  and  if  you  will  give  her  my  card — ' 

"  And  I  handed  her  a  card  with  a  crest  on  it  which  I 
had  ordered  the  day  before;  the  maid,  after  ushering  me 
into  an  elegant  salon,  went  to  seek  her  mistress. 

"  I  was  on  the  spot!  Madame  d'Ermont  soon  appeared. 
She  is  a  small,  light-haired  woman,  rather  stout;  she  was 
so  much  made  up  that  I  could  not  say  whether  she  is  pretty 
or  not,  but  her  features  are  good.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
wrapper  of  blue  silk. 

" '  Count,'  she  said,  with  a  glance  at  my  card  which  she 
still  held  in  her  hand,  '  I  am  delighted  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance. Please  be  seated.  You  are  recommended 
to  me,  I  hear,  by — ' 

"'By  many  of  your  friends,  Madame;  the  Marquis  de 
Santa  Vicchini,  among  others.' 

'"Ah!  the  dear  Marquis!  I  have  not  seen  nim  for  five 
or  six  years.     Is  he  well?' 

" '  Very  well,  Madame.' 

" '  You  come  from  Naples,  Count? ' 

" '  Yes,  Madame.' 


IN  THE  KITE  DE  LA  PAIX.  85 

"'And  you  have  thought  of  coming  to  see  me?  That  is 
charming.' 

"  'I  have  heard  so  many  pleasant  things  of  you.' 

"'You  are  a  flatterer;  we  shall  quarrel,  if — ' 

"'Ah!  Madame,  I  should  be  in  despair.  Think!  I  have 
in  Paris  no  acquaintance,  no  friend.' 

'"Poor  young  man!  But  my  house  is  yours.  And  if 
it  is  not  an  indiscreet  question,  may  I  ask  how  you  come  to 
be  in  Paris?' 

" '  I  came  for  distraction,  Madame ;  I  have  recently  had 
the  misfortune  to  lose  a  near  relative.' 

'"Do  you  intend  to  remain  among  us  long?'  she 
asked,  with  interest. 

" '  Possibly,  if  I  like  Paris.' 

'"You  know,  to  enjoy  yourself  here,  costs  a  great  deal 
of  money.' 

'"  Oh!  I  don't  mind  that,  provided  I  do  enjoy  myself.' 

"At  this  answer,  made  with  great  simplicity,  Mad- 
ame d'Ermont  drew  nearer. 

"'And  what  are  your  tastes?'  she  said;  '  I  must  try  to 
satisfy  them,  since  you  are  recommended  to  me  by  my 
friends.' 

" '  Why,  Madame,  I  like  almost  everything  good  and 
beautiful.' 

"'Oh!  you  are  not  difficult  to  please.  But  you  must 
have  preferences.' 

"'Yes.' 

"'What  are  they?' 

"  '  You  insist  on  knowing?' 

" '  Certainly.' 

'"I  adore  the  society  of  ladies.' 

" '  I  should  not  have  thought  so  from  your  appearance.' 

"'Why  not?' 

" '  It  is  natural  that  one  should  get  tired  of  what  is  easily 


86  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

obtained,'  answered  Pelagie,  attempting  to  blush,  '  and, 
frankly,  you  can  not  have  met  with  many  rebuffs.' 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  this  was  the  first  time  I  had 
ever  received  such  a  compliment.  I  must  have  been 
capitally  disguised.  Will  you  believe  it,  that  I  was 
foolish  enough  to  be  pleased  for  a  moment?  Don't  laugh 
at  me!  When  one  can  not  have  the  substance,  he  must 
try  to  be  contented  with  the  shadow. 

"In  order  not  to  be  behind  Madame  d'Ermont  in 
politeness,  I  pressed  the  hand  she  had  placed  in  mine, 
and  replied: 

"  '  Italian  conquests  do  not  count.  I  wish  to  triumph  in 
Paris.' 

'"In  Paris!  nothing  is  easier,'  she  responded,  feigning 
not  to  understand.  *  And  if  you  desire  it  I  can  introduce 
you  to  some  charming  women.  I  shall  have  a  little  tea 
party  this  evening,  and  if  you  care  to  join  us — ' 

"  *  Alas!  all  my  evenings  are  occupied.  I  am  not  alone 
in  Paris.' 

"  '  Are  you  married?'  she  cried. 

***  Thank  Heaven,  no!  "  I  replied. 

" '  Then,  what  prevents  you  from  accepting  my  in- 
vitation?' 

"  •  I  came  from  Naples  with  a  cousin  of  mine;  she  knows 
no  one  in  Paris,  and  I  can  not  leave  her  alone  in  a  hotel. 
But,'  I  cried,  as  if  a  sudden  idea  had  struck  me, '  you  are 
so  kind  to  me  that  perhaps  you  would  allow  me — ' 

"'What?' 

" '  To  present  her  to  you.' 

"  Pelagie  was  confounded. 

"And  indeed  the  game  I  was  playing  was  a  bold  one; 
to  give  myself  out  as  a  man  of  the  world,  and  to  con- 
ceive the  idea  of  bringing  my  cousin  to  Madame  d'Er- 
mont's    was    shockingly    inconsequent.      But   I   was   a 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  87 

foreigner,  little  familiar  with  Parisian  customs,  and  I  did 
not  appear  to  be  endowed  with  much  intelligence;  Pelagie 
might  easily  believe  that  I  was  ignorant  of  the  exact 
position  she  occupied  in  society,  and  that  I  took  her  for 
what  she  was  not,  but  had  been  at  the  time  of  her 
marriage.  Her  vanity  aiding,  she  might,  after  reflection, 
not  be  so  very  much  astonished  at  my  error,  and  it  was 
little  likely  that  she  would  try  to  enlighten  me. 

"  You  may  ask  me,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  why  instead  of 
passing  off  Madame  Vidal  as  my  cousin,  I  did  not  intro- 
duce her  as  a  woman  of  the  same  stamp  as  Pelagie 
d'Ermont.  Her  presence  in  the  latter's  house  would  thus 
have  been  naturally  explained. 

"  Doubtless  it  would  have  been  much  more  simple.  But 
I  have  a  certain  ridiculous  delicacy  of  feeling,  which  it  is 
strange  to  find  in  me,  but  which  is  there  nevertheless.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  had  no  right  to  compromise  Madame 
Vidal  to  such  a  point,  to  make  her  pass  for  what  she  is 
not  and  can  never  be.  I  consent,  because  I  can  not  avoid 
it,  for  her  to  go  to  Madame  d'Ermont's,  but  I  wish  to  have 
it  appear  that  her  being  there  is  due  to  my  imbecility. 

"  Well,  my  calculations  proved  true;  Madame  d'Ermont, 
when  she  had  recovered  from  her  first  astonishment, 
replied: 

"  'Well!  dear  Count,  present  to  me  your  cousin;  I  shall 
be  delighted  to  see  her.  Only,  tell  her  this  is  but  a 
gathering  of  intimate  friends.  There  will  be  no  music  or 
dancing,  simply  conversation;  perhaps  a  little  game  of 
cards.     Do  you  play?' 

"'  Yes,  a  little.' 

"'You  must  not  do  so  here;  I  do  not  like  to  have 
any  one  lose  at  my  house  more  than  three  or  four  louis 
an  evening.  Now,  I  must  say  good-bye  till  this  evening, 
Count,  as  I  have  an  engagement  to  drive  in  the  Bois.' 


88  fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  I  took  leave  of  her,  and  kissed,  a  little  awkwardly, 
the  hand  she  extended  to  me. 

"  There,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  is  the  exact  account  of 
my  first  interview  with  Madame  Pelagie  d'Ermont.  I 
think  I  played  my  part  well  enough  to  merit  your  com- 
pliments, with  which  I  am  always  pleased. 

"  This  evening  will  take  place  the  first  meeting  of 
Savari  and  Madame  Vidal.  If  she  should  betray  her- 
self! If  she  should  prove  less  strong  than  she  thinks!  I 
tremble  at  the  thought!  " 


XII. 

Vibert  had  played  in  such  a  remarkable  manner  his 
role  of  a  rich  foreigner  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  his 
money,  of  a  pigeon  all  ready  to  be  plucked,  that  Pelagie 
d'Ermont  was  entirely  deceived. 

There  was  nothing  extraordinary  in  that,  however; 
women  like  Pelagie  have  met  in  their  lives  so  many  very 
young  men  and  ridiculous  old  ones,  have  seen  so  many 
follies  committed  for  them  and  about  them,  that  they  have 
come  to  thoroughly  despise  the  human  race  and  to  range 
all  men  in  the  same  category.  They  see  in  every  new 
individual  presented  to  them  only  a  lamb  destined  for  the 
sacrifice  after  being  well  shorn.  So,  when  Vibert  had  left 
her,  Pelagie  hastened  to  summon  her  friends. 

"  Come  and  take  tea  with  me  this  evening,"  she  wrote. 
What  she  meant  was  that  there  would  be  lansquenet  and 
baccarat  for  high  stakes. 

By  ten  o'clock  five  or  six  of  Pelagie's  most  intimate 
friends  were  gathered  together  in  her  salon.  They  were 
all  pretty  women  and  skillful  players. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  89 

While  waiting  for  the  hour  for  serious  matters  to  arrive, 
that  is  to  say,  for  the  gaming  tables  to  be  prepared, 
Madame  d'Ermont's  friends,  who  were  not  restrained  by 
the  presence  of  any  stranger,  chatted  at  their  ease. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Adele  X ,  a  capital  player, 

for  she  played  like  a  man  and  paid  her  debts  with  an  ex- 
emplary punctuality,  "  it  seems  to  me,  my  dear  Pelagie, 
that  we  were  not  to  meet  again  this  week." 

"True;  but  an  opportunity  presented  itself  to  me  to- 
day to  have  a  good  game,  and  I  hastened  to  take  advan- 
tage of  it,  in  the  hope  of  pleasing  you."' 

"  Oh!  of  course,  of  course  ! "  they  cried,  in  chorus. 

"Whom  do  you  expect?"  asked  Armande,  a  pretty 
brunette,  all  the  rage  at  that  time. 

"  I  expect,"  answered  Madame  d'Ermont,  "  little  de 
Fontelle,  whom  you  all  know." 

"Oh!  I  am  not  going  to  play  with  him,"  said  Adele; 
"  there  is  always  some  quarrel  with  minors." 

"  In  the  first  place,  my  dear,"  replied  Pelagie,  a  little 
severely,  "  there  are  never  quarrels  at  my  house ;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  the  person  I  speak  of  is  no  longer  a 
minor;  here  is  the  proof  of  it." 

And  she  took  from  the  mantel-piece  a  printed  circular, 
which  she  read  aloud: 

"  The  Baron  Arthur  de  Fontelle  has  the  honor  to  in- 
form his  friends  and  tradespeople  that  he  attained  his 
majority  on  the  tenth  instant.  His  friends  can  therefore 
win  his  money  from  him  with  impunity;  and  his  trades- 
people give  him  credit.  Baron  Arthur  de  Fontelle  is  alone 
responsible  for  his  actions." 

"  Until  a  guardian  is  appointed  for  him  by  the  courts, 
which  won't  be  long,"  said  Armande,  laughing,  as  this 
strange  circular  was  passed  from  hand  to  hand. 

"  We  are  reassured  as  far  as  the  little  Baron  is  con- 


90  fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

cerned,"  observed  Adele.  "  Whom  else  do  you  ex- 
pect? " 

"  Cordier." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  blonde,  called  Antonine.  "  He  is  no 
good.  He  invariably  comes  with  five  louis,  and  leaves 
when  he  has  lost  or  doubled  them." 

"  I  also  expect  Cravoisier,  Calvet  and  the  Vicomte  de 
Beaune." 

"  Good  !  they  are  serious  players." 

"  I  see  that  we  shan't  finish  till  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning,"  said  Armande. 

"I  don't  care,"  responded  Adele;  "  I  took  my  precau- 
tions and  slept  till  seven  o'clock  this  evening." 

An  Italian,  who  had  just  arrived  in  Paris,  and  whose 
beauty  had  already  created  a  sensation,  here  spoke  up. 

"  Pelagie,"  said  she,  "  has  only  spoken  of  persons  we 
all  know.  I  understood  there  was  to  be  a  certain 
stranger  here." 

"  I  was  reserving  him  for  the  last,"  replied  Madame 
d'Ermont;  "  he  is  a  countryman  of  yours,  Count  de 
Rubini." 

"  I  don't  know  him,  but  shall  be  glad  to  make  his  ac- 
quaintance.    Is  he  rich?  " 

"  Very  rich,  it  seems,  and  I  think  as  simple  as  he  is 
rich." 

"  And  Savari  ? "  suddenly  asked  Armande.  "  Shall 
we  see  him  this  evening?" 

"  By  the  way,"  remarked  Adele,  "  I  haven't  heard  of 
him  for  some  time.     What  has  beoome  of  him  ?  " 

"  I  expect  him,"  replied  Madame  d'Ermont.  "  He 
has  been  ill  since  his  misfortune;  he  went  out  to-day  for 
the  first  time." 

"  Poor  fellow!  He  has  had  enough  to  make  him  ill. 
Fancy  being  accused  of  murder  I n 


IN  THE  RTJE  DE  LA  PAIX.  91 

w  And  being  imprisoned  for  three  days!  " 

"  It  seems  that  there  was  not  the  slightest  proof  against 
him." 

"  No,  he  was  set  at  liberty  at  once." 

"  His  arrest  was  the  result  of  a  mistake,  they  tell  me." 

"  Have  you  read  what  the  opposition  papers  said  about 
this  affair?  They  criticised  the  judges,  examining  magis- 
trates, etc.,  pretty  severely." 

"And  on  the  other  hand  they  made  our  friend  Albert 
the  hero  of  the  day." 

"  Suppose,"  said  Antonine,  "  we  give  him  an  ovation 
when  he  comes."  , 

"  Agreed  ! "  cried  Adele.  "  I  will  give  the  signal. 
Hip!  hip!  hurrah! " 

"  Did  not  the  bell  ring?"  asked  Pelagie  d'Ermont. 

"  1  hope  so;  it  is  high  time.  These  gentlemen  make 
us  wait  too  long;  they  go  to  some  ball  or  to  the  theatre 
before  coming  to  see  us." 

Between  eleven  and  half-past  twelve  Madame  d'Er- 
mont's  salon  filled  up  rapidly. 

Savari  arrived  one  of  the  last;  the  women,  as  they  had 
planned,  received  him  with  enthusiasm;  the  men  treated 
him  with  more  coldness.  In  France,  people  avoid  what 
the  law  has  touched.  An  honest  man,  for  instance,  is 
tried  at  the  court  of  assizes  and  acquitted,  not  only  by 
the  jury,  but  by  the  public  and  the  newspapers;  all  hands 
should  be  held  out  to  him  and  prove  to  him,  by  a  warm 
clasp,  the  regret  that  is  felt  at  his  innocent  suffering. 
Instead  of  that,  every  one  turns  away,  treats  him  coldly, 
hesitates  to  bow  to  him,  for  fear  of  being  compromised. 
People  say,  "  I  know  he  is  innocent,  but  that  gentleman 
who  is  looking  at  us  may  believe  in  his  guilt." 

"  If  I  should  be  accused  of  stealing  the  towers  of 
Notre  Dame,"  some  one  has  said,  "  I  should  fly  first,  and 


92  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

establish  my  innocence  afterward."  And  there  is  a 
certain  amount  of  sense  in  these  words.  A  hundred  per- 
sons rise  up  to  believe  in  a  crime,  but  there  are  even  more 
who  show  themselves  incredulous  of  a  good  action.  So 
long  as  Lesurques'  innocence  has  not  been  officially  de- 
clared people  will  be  found  who  believe  in  his  guilt.  And 
this  is  not  difficult  to  explain:  a  man  is  accused  of  a  crime; 
the  whole  paraphernalia  of  the  law  is  employed;  agents 
of  police,  gendarmes,  magistrates.  His  house  is  searched, 
he  is  arrested  in  the  sight  of  all,  and  cast  into  prison. 
Every  one  knows  about  it.  The  street  in  front  of  the 
house  of  the  man  who  has  been  arrested  is  blocked  up; 
his  family  are  pointed  out,  his  crime  is  in  every  one's 
mouth,  and  few  friendly  voices  are  raised  in  his  defense. 

However,  it  happens  that  the  prisoner  is  not  guilty; 
the  magistrates  have  recognized  his  innocence,  and 
opened  the  prison  doors.  "  Go,"  they  say,  "  you  are 
free."  And  he  goes.  He  returns  quietly  to  his  home. 
What  has  happened  to  him  has  so  amazed,  so 
frightened  him,  that  he  has  no  more  assurance  ;  he 
imagines  himself  still  behind  the  bars,  threatened  with  a 
trial,  accused  of  a  crime.  He  opens  his  door,  embraces 
his  children,  blushes  before  his  domestics,  retires,  and  for 
some  days  perhaps  does  not  dare  to  show  his  face. 

His  arrest  was  public,  in  the  eyes  of  all;  his  return  is 
quiet,  often  unknown. 

The  arrest  was  a  material  act,  which  all  the  world  could 
witness ;  his  deliverance  was,  so  to  speak,  a  negative 
fact. 

The  entrance  of  Vibert  and  Madame  Vidal  into  Pelagie 
d'Ermont's  salon  was  not  much  noticed.  The  card  tables 
had  been  prepared  full  an  hour  before,  and  every  one  was 
defending  his  money  with  too  much  eagerness  to  take 
notice  of    anything  outside  of   the  game.      Vibert  had 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA   PA  IX.  93 

foreseen  this  when  he  planned  to  arrive  as  late  as  possible. 
He  still  distrusted  Fedora's  strength,  and  wished  to  make 
it  as  easy  for  her  as  possible.  He  feared  that  this  honest 
woman,  suddenly  finding  herself  in  the  presence  of  such 
people,  would  not  be  able  to  hide  her  disgust  and  re- 
pugnance. Their  language  and  manners  might  offend 
her  delicacy,  and  she  might  fly  from  the  place  and  give 
up  her  design. 

But,  as  we  have  said,  women  who  gamble  are  no  longer 
women;  they  have  become  simply  gamblers.  Their  con- 
versation is  confined  to  the  phrases  belonging  to  the  game. 
"I  pass;  the  king  is  good  ;  the  ace  is  better;  another 
deal;  this  lansquenet  is  a  miserable  game;  the  cards  were 
not  shuffled,"  etc. 

Then  Fedora  had  never  been  taken  into  society  by 
her  husband;  although  she  had  all  womanly  graces,  she 
had  also  the  ignorance  of  a  foreigner,  born  in  a  second- 
class  city  and  brought  up  in  the  bosom  of  her  family. 
She  might  feel  instinctive  repugnance,  but  many  of  the 
details  which  would  have  shocked  a  Parisian  would  es- 
cape her  notice.  Finally,  she  was  pursuing  her  scheme 
of  vengeance  with  all  the  ardor  of  her  southern  nature, 
her  youth  and  her  excitable  temperament.  It  little  mat- 
tered to  her  the  sufferings  which  her  self-respect  might 
undergo,  the  danger  to  her  reputation,  or  the  disgust  she 
might  feel.  All  this  was  of  no  importance  in  comparison 
with  the  order  left  her  by  her  dying  husband.  Should 
she  feel  herself  weakening,  she  would  not  draw  a  bottle 
of  salts  from  her  pocket  to  revive  her,  but  Maurice 
Vidal's  memorandum  book,  and  she  would  read  the 
words  written  with  the  blood  of  the  only  man  she  had 
ever  loved:  "  Fedora,  avenge  me!  " 


94      fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 


XIII. 

Fedora  Vidal,  grave  and  attentive,  was  seated  on  a  sofa 
in  a  corner  of  the  salon,  where  she  could  observe  at  her 
ease  Albert  Savari,  who  was  standing  near  the  card  table. 

She  had  already  seen  him  once  in  the  magistrate's 
office ;  through  the  chinks  of  the  screen  which  had  hidden 
her,  she  had  been  able  to  impress  upon  her  mind  his  fea- 
tures. He  was  no  longer  the  same  man.  Obliged  to 
defend  his  liberty,  perhaps  his  life,  he  had  then  worn  a 
mask.  His  safety  might  depend  upon  a  gesture,  a  look, 
a  sudden  change  of  color.  At  Pelagie's  he  was  no  longer 
obliged  to  be  on  his  guard,  as  he  thought  no  one  was 
observing  him;  all  the  players  had  their  eyes  bent  on 
the  cards  spread  out  on  the  table  and  were  not  thinking 
of  him.     So  his  features  wore  their  usual  expression. 

What  struck  Fedora  chiefly  was  the  proud  sadness 
imprinted  on  Savari's  countenance.  This  man  had  under- 
gone some  great  sorrow,  or  was  deeply  discouraged  or 
tortured  by  terrible  remorse.  His  eyes  were  hollow,  his 
cheeks  sunken,  his  face  pale;  his  lips,  which  he  bit  ner- 
vously, alone  had  any  color  in  them. 

Although  he  appeared  to  be  interested  in  the  game  of 
baccarat  going  on  before  his  eyes,  Savari  took  no  active 
part  in  it.  He  held  in  one  of  his  hands  a  handful  of 
louis,  but  whenever  he  seemed  on  the  point  of  hazard- 
ing them,  he  paused.  "What  is  the  use?"  his  discour- 
aged look  seemed  to  say;  "  what  difference  can  it  make 
to  me  whether  I  gain  or  lose?  What  good  will  it  do  me 
to  have  a  few  more  louis?" 

Suddenly  he  felt  some  one  touch  him  on  the  shoulder. 
It  was  Vibert,  who,  after  having  observed  him  as  atten- 
tively as  Fedora,  had  gradually  glided  toward. him. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  95 

"Pardon  me,  Monsieur,"  said  the  agent  of  police  in 
his  Italian  accent,  "  all  the  people  in  this  salon  are  occu- 
pied with  the  game;  you  alone  are  not  playing.  "Would 
you  be  kind  enough  to  do  me  a  service?" 

"What  is  it,  Monsieur?"  asked  Savari,  coldly,  after  a 
look  at  the  stranger. 

"  I  am  a  foreigner,  an  Italian,  as  it  is  easy  for  you  to 
perceive  from  my  accent,  and  know  very  little  about  the 
game  of  baccarat;  I  would  like  to  play,  though,  as  I  am 
rather  fond  of  cards.  Would  you  be  kind  enough  to 
devote  a  few  minutes  of  your  time  to  teaching  me  this 
famous  game  I  have  heard  so  much  of  in  Italy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  should  not,  Monsieur,  if  you  wish 
it,"  replied  Savari,  no  less  stiffly  than  before. 

"Thank  you  a  thousand  times;  I  can  then  sit  down 
with  these  ladies  and  risk  a  few  bank  notes  without  ap- 
pearing too  ridiculous." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  Monsieur,  allow  me  to  inform  you  that 
no  one  appears  ridiculous  to  those  ladies,  if  he  has  bank 
notes  to  risk." 

"  Indeed  !  they  like  bank  notes,  perhaps ! "  replied 
Vibert,  with  a  silly  laugh. 

"  They  adore  them,"  responded  Savari. 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  from  the  mantel-piece  a  pack  of 
cards,  which  the  players  had  thrown  aside. 

"  I  will  show  you  now,  if  you  like,"  he  said. 

"Had  we  not  better  sit  down?"  suggested  the  agent«of 
police. 

"  As  you  choose ;  here  are  chairs." 

"  You  see  I  am  not  alone." 

"Ah!" 

"Yes,  1  have  a  lady  with  me,  a  countrywoman  of  mine; 
she  might  be  glad  to  learn  also,  and  if  you  are  willing — " 

"Where  is  the  lady?" 


96  FEDORA  :   OB,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"Over there  in  the  corner.  She  knows  no  one;  and  as 
she  speaks  French  imperfectly,  she  is  very  timid." 

For  the  first  time  Savari's  eyes  fell  upon  Fedora. 

Maurice  Vidal's  widow  sustained  his  look  with  the 
greatest  courage  and  betrayed  no  emotion.  But  Vibert 
prudently  advanced  quickly  to  her  and  presented  Savari. 

"  We  know  no  one  in  Paris,"  he  continued,  addressing 
Savari,  "  and  had  it  not  been  for  Madame  d'Ermont's 
kindness,  we  should  not  have  known  what  to  do  with  our- 
selves this  evening.  Ah!  Paris  is  superb;  but  it  appears 
very  deserted,  if  one  has  no  acquaintances,  as  is  our 
case."  Then  suddenly  stopping  himself:  "  But  pardon 
me,  Monsieur,  for  my  Italian  loquacity,"  he  continued, 
"  you  have  probably  other  things  to  do  here  besides  listen- 
ing to  me,  and  if  you  will  give  me  my  lesson,  I  am  ready." 
"  My  dear,"  he  added,  turning  to  Fedora,  "  Monsieur  is 
good  enough  to  teach  us  baccarat.  You  remember,  that 
game  we  heard  so  much  about  last  winter  in  Naples. 
Enormous  sums  have  been  lost  at  it." 

Savari  took  his  place  on  the  sofa  beside  Fedora  and 
opposite  Vibert,  and  commenced  the  promised  lesson. 
Scarcely  was  it  ended,  when  a  voice  cried  out: 

"Ten  louis  in  the  bank.     No  one  bets?" 

"  I  have  a  good  mind  to  try,"  said  Vibert,  rising. 

"  I  should  advise  you  not  to,"  remarked  Savari. 

"  Why  not?  Thanks  to  you,  Monsieur,  I  know  the 
game  now." 

"  You  don't  know  it  well  enough  to  play  against  the 
person  who  is  dealing." 

"Bah!  you  can  never  tell!"  replied  Vibert,  who 
thought  the  time  had  come  to  leave  Fedora  and  Savari 
together. 

He  turned  away  and  approached  the  table,  where  they 
hastened  to  make  room  for  him,  for  he  had  taken  care  to 


IN  THE  RUE   DE  LA  PAIX.  97 

draw  from  his  pocket  a  pocket  book  apparently  stuffed 
with  bank  notes. 

He  had  arranged  this  pocket  book  with  infinite  care: 
two  or  three  bank  notes  were  carefully  displayed  among 
unimportant  papers  tied  up  into  little  bundles  labeled 
five  thousand,  ten  thousand  and  fifteen  thousand  francs. 

The  sight  of  this  produced  a  great  effect  upon  the 
players,  and  especially  upon  the  ladies.  Vibert  imme- 
diately risked  a  louis  or  two.  He  had  known  for  some 
time,  either  by  name  or  sight,  most  of  the  women  present, 
and  he  had  good  reason  for  distrusting  them.  He  only 
played  for  the  purpose  of  avoiding  suspicion  and  to  keep 
up,  in  all  its  details,  the  part  he  was  playing.  Moreover, 
baccarat  was  as  familiar  to  him  as  it  was  to  Savari.  Two 
months  before  the  crime  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  he  had 
been  called  on  to  break  up  a  certain  gambling  house, 
and  he  had  carefully  studied  the  game,  to  be  able  to 
explain  it  in  all  its  workings  to  the  magistrates. 

It  was  therefore  with  a  certain  repugnance  and  great 
timidity  that  he  laid  down  his  money,  thinking:  "It  is  as 
good  as  lost,  but  I  will  put  it  down  in  my  bill  of  expenses." 
But  instead  of  losing  his  louis,  he  won  one,  then  two,  then 
ten,  then  twenty.  Gold  and  bank  notes  seemed  to  flow 
in  his  direction. 

Odd  ideas  came  into  his  head  and  made  him  smile.     "  I 

wish,"  he  thought,  "  that  the  Marquis  de  X could  see 

me  now;  how  he  would  laugh!  An  agent  of  police  play- 
ing at  baccarat  with  the  people  it  is  his  duty  to  watch. 
The  joke  would  be  perfect  if  the  police  would  make  a 
descent  on  the  house  and  capture  me  with  the  rest." 

All  at  once,  just  as  he  had  won  a  considerable  sum,  for 
his  luck  clung  to  him,  as  it  always  clings  to  those  who  sit 
down  to  play  without  desiring  or  intending  to  win,  he  felt 
some  one  leaning  on  the  back  of  his  chair. 

7 


98  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TEAGEDT 

He  turned  and  saw  Savari. 

"  You  are  profiting  by  my  lesson,"  said  the  latter. 

"  Oh,  a  little." 

"A  little!  you  must  have  at  least  five  or  six  thousand 
francs  before  you." 

"  That's  nothing,"  replied  Vibert,  in  the  careless  tone  of 
a  millionaire. 

"  Then  since  you  care  so  little  for  your  winnings,  you 
won't  be  angry  with  the  person  who  has  sent  me  to  you." 

"  Ah !     What  does  she  want?  " 

"  She  wants  to  go,  and  asked  me  to  tell  you  so." 

Vibert  rose  at  once,  which  provoked  a  general  cry  of 
alarm. 

"  What!  you  are  going?  It  is  only  the  edge  of  the 
evening.     It  is  only  three  o'clock." 

"Oh,  that's  too  bad!"  exclaimed  Adele,  "when  you 
have  won  so  much  money!  " 

"  Monsieur  is  afraid  he  will  lose  it,"  remarked  Antonine. 

"  I  had  more  confidence  in  you,  my  dear  Count,"  mur- 
mured Pelagie  d'Ermont. 

Vibert  saw  that  his  departure  would  give  rise  to  ill- 
feeling,  and  that  it  would  be  committing  an  imprudence 
to  gain  the  ill-will  of  these  people. 

"  Ladies,"  he  said,  "  I  am  obliged  to  take  home  the  lady 
who  came  with  me,  and  whom  your  excitement  has  made 
you  forget;  but  I  shall  return  shortly,  and  I  will  leave  my 
money  on  the  table  to  mark  my  place." 

These  last  words  gave  general  satisfaction,  and  Vibert 
left  the  room  with  Fedora. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  as  they  descended  the  staircase. 

"  I  have  met  him,  as  you  arranged,"  she  replied,  "  but 
shall  I  see  him  again?" 

"Certainly;  if  you  did  not  see  him  again,  this  first 
meeting  would  be  useless." 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PALX.  99 

M  But  where?  I  would  rather  not  go  to  that  house 
again." 

"  You  shall  not." 

"Then  what  is  your  plan?  " 

"  I  have  none,  as  yet;  but,  trust  me,  I  shall  soon  think 
of  one.  May  I  ask  you  if  your  convictions  in  regard  to 
Savari  have  been  shaken  by  the  conversation  you  have 
had  with  him?" 

"  They  have  not  been  shaken,  but  nothing  has  happened 
to  strengthen  them." 

By  this  time  they  had  gained  the  street. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  return  to  Madame  d'Ermont's,"  said 
Vibert. 

"  Very  well.  Call  a  cab  for  me  and  give  my  address  to 
the  driver." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  to  return  home  alone  at  this  hour, 
Madame?     I  have  time  to  accompany  you." 

"No,  thanks.  If  I  wish  to  carry  out  to  the  end  the 
task  I  have  undertaken,  I  must  become  familiar  with  all 
the  difficulties  of  my  position." 

Vibert  hailed  an  empty  cab,  and  placed  Fedora  in- 
side. 

"  I  shall  have  the  honor,  Madame,"  he  said,  as  he  closed 
the  door,  "  of  seeing  you  to-morrow,  in  order  to  decide 
what  it  is  best  to  do." 

"  I  shall  be  at  home  all  day,"  she  answered. 

Vibert  watched  the  cab  as  it  drove  off  with  Fedora 
Vidal.  Any  one  who  had  observed  him  at  that  moment, 
would  have  found  something  strange  in  his  look.  But  he 
soon  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  as  if  he  wished  to 
drive  away  certain  thoughts  which  troubled  him;  his 
figure  became  erect,  his  eyes  changed  their  expression, 
and  he  turned  and  walked  back  to  the  house  he  had  just 
quitted. 


100  FEDOEA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"  The  first  step  is  taken,"  he  thought,  as  he  mounted 
the  stairs ;  "  but  the  second?  If  this  very  night  I  do  not 
find  a  way  to  become  intimate  with  Savari,  he  will  escape 
us.  How  shall  I,  without  awakening  his  suspicions,  force 
him  to  see  us  again,  to  see  us  often?  Ah!  how  frequently 
it  happens  that  the  most  intelligent  minds,  which  no 
obstacle,  no  danger  terrifies,  meet  with  some  trifling  diffi- 
culty and  are  conquered  by  it." 

Suddenly  he  stopped  short. 

"  I  have  it,"  he  exclaimed.     "  Eureka!  as  the  Marquis 

de  X would  say.     Now  if  fortune  only  stands  by 

me!" 

He  rang  at  Pelagie's  door  and  was  admitted. 

It  was  now  about  three  o'olock. 

During  Vibert's  absence,  the  game  had  been  very 
animated. 

Savari  was  banker,  and  fortune  favored  him;  he  had 
nearly  three  thousand  francs  in  the  bank. 

Vibert  sat  down  quietly. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  cards  were  dealt  to  hkn. 

"  Make  your  bets,  gentlemen,"  said  Savari. 

"What  is  your  bet?"  some  one  asked  Vibert. 

"  The  limit  of  the  bank,"  he  replied. 

"  You  mean  what  remains  after  the  others  have  bet." 

"  No,  all  there  is  in  the  bank.  Have  1  the  right  to  do 
that?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  others,  withdrawing  the  bets 
they  had  made. 

"Which  side  will  you  take?"  asked  the  banker. 
"  This  or  the  other?     Or  will  you  take  both?  " 

"Both.     I  feel  that  I  am  in  luck." 

Savari,  despite  his  being  so  accustomed  to  the  game, 
was  intimidated.  Nothing  so  alarms  a  gambler  as  to  find 
against  him  an  adversary  who  seems  confident  of  winning 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  101 

and  who  is  playing  for  the  first  time.  Vibert  knew  these 
facts  and  he  used  them  for  his  own  advantage. 

Savari  dealt  the  cards,  looked  at  his  hand,  and  said: 

"  I  lay  down,  I  have  eight." 

"  Then  I  must  have  nine,"  replied  the  agent  of  police, 
with  imperturbable  coolness. 

And  he  did,  indeed,  have  nine  on  each  side. 

Savari,  distressed  at  having  lost  at  one  stroke  all  the 
money  he  had  won,  hoping  to  have  better  luck  and 
desirous  of  getting  his  revenge  upon  Vibert,  whose  assur- 
ance exasperated  him,  started  a  new  bank  with  the  thou- 
sand francs  he  had  left. 

The  first  deals  were  lucky  ones;  in  less  than  ten 
minutes  he  quadrupled  his  capital,  at  the  expense  of  the 
other  players.  Vibert  alone  made  no  bet;  he  had  risen, 
and,  leaning  against  the  mantel-piece,  was  smoking  a 
cigarette  with  an  indifferent  air;  but  after  awhile  he 
advanced  to  the  table  and  said,  as  before: 

"  I  bet  the  limit." 

"Again!  "  cried  Savari,  startled. 

"  You  have  the  right  to  give  up  the  bank,"  observed 
some  one. 

"No!  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  will  not  give  it  up." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Vibert,  throwing  down  on  the 
table  his  pocket  book,  from  which  he  had  removed  the 
false  packages  and  substituted  real  bank  notes.  The  re- 
sult was  almost  analogous  to  the  first. 

The  bank  lost  a  second  time,  and  the  money  amassed  by 
Savari  passed  into  Vibert's  hands. 

Savari,  at  the  end  of  his  resources,  gave  up  the  bank, 
and  Vibert  took  it  in  his  turn.  But,  instead  of  placing  a 
thousand  francs  before  him  in  bank,  he  placed  fifteen 
thousand.  He  could  thus  back  up  his  luck  by  the  force 
of  capital. 


102  FEDOBA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

What  gives  great  power  to  the  gambling  establish- 
ments .of  Germany  is  not  the  zeros  of  roulette  or  the 
splits  of  trente-et-quarante,  but  the  large  sum  at  the 
disposition  of  the  bank.  All  the  little  purses  are  event- 
ually swallowed  up  in  this  great  purse. 

There  is  in  Paris  a  well-known  man  whose  fortune 
amounts,  it  is  said,  to  eight  or  ten  millions.  He  has  gained 
it  principally  by  play,  which  he  has  made  a  sort  of  pro- 
fession, a  commercial  enterprise.  He  has  always  been 
relatively  honest,  and  has  never  during  his  long  career 
had  recourse  to  marked  or  stacked  cards,  nor  any  of  the 
methods  of  cheating  resorted  to  by  dishonest  players.  He 
simply,  instead  of  playing  against  the  bank,  is  always  the 
banker,  and  has  always  before  him  large  sums,  with  which 
he  can  hold  bad  fortune  in  check  and  wait  for  his  luck. 
His  rooms,  where  for  a  long  time  past  a  select  society 
has  been  in  the  habit  of  assembling,  are  a  regular  gambling 
hell.     Instead  of  going  to  Homburg,  the  gilded  youth  go 

after  dinner  to  B 's,  who  receives  them  politely,  offers 

them  cigars  and  refreshments,  charms  them  with  his  ready 
wit,  and  wins  their  money  to  boot. 

Vibert,  from  his  position  on  the  police  force,  was  ac- 
quainted with  everything  that  went  on  in  Paris,  and  had 

doubtless  heard  of  B and  his  manner  of  operating, 

and  tried  to  imitate  him.  His  fifteen  thousand  francs 
worked  marvels;  after  a  short  time  all  the  money  spread 
out  on  the  table  had  been  won  by  him.  The  great  capital 
absorbed  the  little  ones. 

Then  happened  what  always  happens  in  games  of  this 
sort,  where  license  runs  riot;  after  the  money  was  all 
gone,  they  played  on  credit. 

Vibert  now  lay  in  wait  for  Savari. 

The  latter,  intimidated  by  the  success  of  his  adversary, 
and  knowing,  through  long   experience,  the  dangers  of 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  103 

playing  on  credit,  made  his  bets  at  first  with  the  greatest 
reserve.  He  would  perhaps  have  entirely  given  up  strug- 
gling against  his  bad  luck,  if  he  had  commenced  by  losing. 
But  he  chanced  to  win  on  the  first  few  deals  five  hundred 
francs;  he  thought  that  luck  had  returned  to  him,  and 
that  he  was  going  to  win  back  from  Vibert  all  he  had 
lost.  He  played  recklessly,  with  a  sort  of  feverishness, 
and  he  commenced  to  lose  again.  All  the  skill  ten  years 
of  practice  had  given  him  availed  nothing.  It  was  no 
longer  a  question  with  him  of  losing  or  winning  money; 
he  was  no  longer  fighting  against  an  impersonal  being, 
a  banker,  nor  a  material  thing,  a  turn  of  the  cards;  he 
was  fighting  against  a  man,  against  Vibert,  whose  con- 
stant good  luck  exasperated  him,  whose  coolness  irri- 
tated him,  whose  soft  manners  and  exaggerated  politeness 
excited  his  nervous  system  to  the  highest  pitch.  He  felt 
that  his  adversary  was  hostile  to  him,  he  did  not  know 
why;  he  was  a  hundred  leagues  from  suspecting  Vibert's 
projects,  but  something  said  to  him:  You  are  in  the 
presence  of  an  enemy;  beware! 

A  sort  of  intoxication,  the  most  dangerous  of  all,  that 
occasioned  by  gambling,  took  possession  of  him;  the 
cards  spread  out  on  the  table  were  no  longer  cards,in  his 
eyes,  but  swords  whose  point  he  attempted  to  direct  to- 
ward Vibert's  breast.  But  Vibert  parried  his  thrusts  and 
touched  his  opponent  at  each  lunge.  The  play  had  now 
become  furious  and  every  one  but  the  banker  was  losing. 
Slips  of  paper  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  pledges  of  all  sorts, 
encumbered  the  table.  One  wrote  upon  a  piece  of  paper, 
good  for  ten  francs  or  a  thousand  francs.  Another  offered  a 
ring,  saying,  "  This  is  worth  twenty-five  louis."  Another, 
who  had  already  pledged  his  watch,  studs,  and  sleeve 
buttons,  fumbled  in  his  pockets,  and,  producing  a  tooth- 
pick, exclaimed:  "  This  toothpick  stands  for  two  thousand 


104  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

francs."  It  was  a  curious  thing  to  see  all  these  people 
attaching  an  exaggerated  value  to  worthless  objects,  and 
disputing  the  point,  as  if  a  fortune  depended  upon  it. 
Yet,  such  is  the  power  of  gold,  that  if  by  chance  a  real 
louis  appeared  upon  the  table,  every  player  made  des- 
perate efforts  to  obtain  it;  even  if  one  chanced  to  have 
no  confidence  in  a  bet,  he  would  decide  to  try  it,  because 
he  saw  the  sparkle  of  this  solitary  louis. 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Vibert  still  held  the 
bank.  He  had  been  extremely  careful  to  put  away 
in  his  pocket  book  and  his  pockets  all  the  money  and  all 
the  I.  O.  U.'s  signed  by  Savari.  He  was  playing  only 
with  the  pledges  given  him,  and  he  paid  his  losses  with 
these  things  which  had  only  a  moral  value.  He  seemed 
to  attach  real  importance  only  to  Savari's  paper.  This, 
Vibert  respected  as  the  equal  of  bank  notes,  and  when  he 
had  to  pay  five  hundred  francs  to  Adele,  he  preferred  to 
give  her  twenty-five  louis  out  of  his  pocket  rather  than  a 
slip  of  paper  signed  by  Savari  which  he  had  before  him. 

Finally,  when  Savari's  indebtedness  had  reached  a 
considerable  sum,  Vibert  declared  that  he  was  tired 
out  and  must  go  home  to  bed.  This  declaration  was  per- 
fectly proper.  They  had  commenced  by  determining  to 
stop  at  eight  o'clock,  then  at  nine,  and  then  at  ten ;  it 
was  now  eleven  o'clock,  and  those  who  had  won  could 
-leave  without  being  accused  of  meanness. 

They  managed,  however,  to  persuade  Vibert  to  deal 
once  more.  He  consented,  and  played  so  carelessly  and 
generously  that  every  one  was  delighted.  He  even  ap- 
peared to  desire  to  make  mistakes. so  that  they  could  get 
even.  So,  at  the  end  of  the  deal,  the  ladies  had  regained 
their  rings  and  the  gentlemen  their  watches  and  I.  O.  U.'s. 
Savari  alone  was  Vibert's  debtor  to  the  amount  of 
fourteen  thousand  francs. 


IX   THE   RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  105 

The  game  was  over;  they  rose  and  stretched  their  arms 
and  legs;  they  now  felt  the  fatigue  which  the  excitement 
of  the  game  had  prevented  them  from  feeling  before. 

The  shutters  had  been  opened,  and  the  sunlight  poured 
into  the  salon  and  dimmed  the  expiring  candles.  Every 
one  looked  horribly  ugly;  the  women  especially  presented 
a  most  disillusionizing  spectacle ;  the  blanc  de  perle  and 
rouge  they  had  put  on  the  previous  evening,  all  the  little 
details,  which  had  scarcely  been  perceived  in  the  candle 
light,  but  which  could  not  bear  the  light  of  day,  gave 
them  a  strange  appearance. 

The  carriages  were  ordered,and  they  all  sought  their 
homes. 

Before  taking  leave  of  Vibert,  Savari  said  to  him: 
"  Where  shall  I  bring  you  the  amount  of  my  debt. 
Monsieur?  " 

"  If  you  choose,  to  the  Hotel  des  Princes  in  the  Rue 
Richelieu,  where  I  am  living  for  the  present,"  replied, 
without  hesitation,  the  agent  of  police,  who  was  expecting 
this  question. 

They  saluted  one  another  courteously,  and  each  went 
his  own  way. 


XIV. 

Vibert  walked  down  the  Rue  Blanche  on  foot.  He 
needed  the  air.     His  head  was  heavy  and  his  eyes  burned. 

It  was  enough  to  fatigue  any  one:  to  sit  down  in  a  chair 
at  midnight,  remain  in  the  same  place  till  eleven  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  during  all  that  time,  to  continually 
deal  cards,  to  speak  without  cessation  the  same  words; 
to  make  the  same  gestures;  not  to  dare  to  rise  or  to  walk 


106  FEDOEA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

for  fear  of  changing  the  luck;  to  be  hungry  and  not  to 
eat  in  order  not  to  lose  a  moment;  to  die  with  thirst  and 
not  to  drink  for  fear  of  leaving  in  one's  glass  the  neces- 
sary coolness;  to  live,  finally,  in  a  poisonous  atmosphere  in 
the  midst  of  blinding  tobacco  smoke. 

But  the  passion  for  play  renders  one  insensible  to  all 
privation,  all  physical  and  mental  suffering.  A  gambler, 
as  long  as  he  has  cards,  money  and  an  adversary,  is  never 
unhappy.  Shut  up  four  inveterate  gamblers  in  the  same 
cell  and  give  them  the  means  of  satisfying  their  passion, 
and  you  can  be  sure  they  will  make  no  attempt  to  escape. 
More  than  that,  when  the  day  for  setting  them  at  liberty 
comes,  if  an  interesting  game  is  going  on,  they  will  ask 
to  have  their  imprisonment  prolonged. 

Although  he  was  very  much  fatigued,  Vibert  did  not 
suffer  from  want  of  sleep;  a  man  is  not  sleepy  when  he 
has  won  at  play.  He  counts  his  money,  he  makes  calcu- 
lations which  keep  him  awake.  It  is  only  unfortunate 
players  who  sleep  heavily  when  they  return  home;  they 
thus  forget  a  loss  which  is  always  felt,  however  great  or 
small  it  may  be,  and  whatever  may  be  a  man's  pecuniary 
position.  Then,  besides,  it  is  necessary  for  them  to  recu- 
perate their  strength  in  order  to  run  about  the  next  day 
and  gather  together  a  considerable  sum  to  pay  their  losses. 

Still,  Vibert  could  not  be  absolutely  classed  in  the 
category  of  happy  gamesters.  It  was  not  the  happiness 
of  having  won  and  of  counting  his  money  that  kept  him 
awake;  it  was  the  satisfaction  of  having  gained  a  victory, 
of  having  opened  the  campaign  brilliantly.  He  did  not 
say  to  himself:  "  With  all  these  bank  notes,  what  fancies 
I  can  satisfy!  "  He  thought:  "My  debtor,  Savari,  is  at  my 
mercy;  I  hold  him  more  closely  than  any  cell  in  the  Con- 
ciergerie  could,  and  he  must  speak.  I  am  a  more  terrible 
judge  than  M.  Gourbet,  for  I  have  time  and  space  before 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PALX.  107 

me  and  a  woman  at  my  side,  a  woman  more  devoted  than 
I  myself  to  my  plans.  With  the  money  I  have  won  and 
which  I  feel  here  in  my  pocket,  I  can  live  the  same  life 
as  Savari,  share  his  tastes,  his  pleasures,  follow  him  step 
by  step,  dine  at  the  Cafe  Anglais  if  necessary— I,  who  am 
used  to  a  twenty-sou  dinner  at  some  cheap  restaurant; 
take  a  carriage — I,  who  used  to  hesitate  about  getting  into 
an  omnibus!  I  can  surround  myself  with  all  desirable 
luxury,  and  deceive  every  one  as  to  my  personality;  for 
no  person  endowed  with  common  sense  will  suppose  that 
a  minor  employe  of  the  Government  throws  his  money 
about  recklessly.  And  to  think  that  I  have  reached  the 
desired  result  by  my  own  efforts,  without  having  recourse 

to  the  purse  which  the  Marquis  de  X placed  at  my 

disposal,  and  without  appealing  to  the  minister  of  the 
interior  for  aid  from  the  secret  funds.  M  Secret  funds  is  a 
good  name  for  them,"  he  thought  with  a  smile;  "they  are 
so  secret  that  we  employes  of  the  secret  police  never  see 
them.  And  there  are  people  who  suspect  us  of  living  on 
a  footing  of  fifty  thousand  livres  a  year.  How  they  are 
deceived! " 

While  communing  thus  with  himself,  Vibert,  after  hav- 
ing walked  down  the  Rue  Blanche,  reached  the  Boule- 
vards by  way  of  the  Chaussee  d'Antin.  His  head  seemed 
lighter,  his  legs  were  more  supple,  and  the  air  had  re- 
freshed his  eyes;  he  felt  active,  wide  awake,  and  ready 
for  work.  Like  a  prudent  general,  who  does  not  rest  on 
his  laurels,  he  sketched  out  a  new  plan,  and  set  about 
putting  it  into  execution  at  once. 

He  took  the  first  cab  he  met  and  drove  to  his  modest 
lodgings  in  the  Rue  de  TArbre-Sec.  Mounting  to  the  fifth 
floor,  he  made  some  slight  alterations  in  his  toilet;  locked 
up  safely  the  greater  part  of  his  money,  wrote  to  the  Mar- 
quis de  X ,  according  to  the  promise  he  had  made 


108  FEDORA  :    OK,   THE  TEAGEDY 

him  in  his  last  letter,  and  then  left  his  rooms  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  Rue  de  la  Paix. 

Fedora  Vidal  was  expecting  him. 

He  told  her  of  what  had  happened  at  Pelagie  d'Ermont's 
after  her  departure,  and  then  communicated  to  her  his 
new  plans,  which  she  approved  of. 

"  From  the  moment  that  you  consent  to  meet  Savari  as 
often  as  possible,"  he  said,  in  conclusion,  "  you  can  not 
continue  to  live  in  this  house.  If  the  idea  should  come 
to  him  some  day  to  follow  you  here,  he  would  know  who 
you  are,  and  all  would  be  lost." 

"Evidently." 

"  You  are  willing, then,  to  change  your  residence?  " 

"  No,  I  shall  keep  this  apartment.  I  have  too  many 
memories  connected  with  it  to  consent  to  leave  it.  But 
I  can  hire  another,  where  I  shall  go  when  necessary." 

"  Will  you  authorize  me  to  select  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  would  you  like  it  to  be?" 

"  It  is  immaterial  to  me.  You  can  simply  send  me  my 
new  address." 

"  You  shall  receive  it  this  evening." 

On  leaving  Fedora,  Vibert,  careful  of  the  least  details, 
bought  two  second-hand  traveling  bags;  they  might  have 
belonged  to  some  rich  foreigner,  and  still  bore  the 
placards  of  the  countries  they  had  been  in.  He  filled 
them  with  a  quantity  of  things — toilet  articles,  paper  and 
stamped  envelopes,  shirts,  underclothing  and  handsome 
clothes.  The  aspect  of  these  bags,  full  to  overflowing, 
would  inspire  boundless  confidence  in  the  people  of  the 
hotel  where  he  was  going  to  live. 

He  had  now  only  to  repair  to  the  hotel  he  had  men- 
tioned to  Savari,  and  where,  according  to  Vibert's  calcu- 
lations, the  latter  would  soon  put  in  an  appearance. 


IN  THE  KUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  109 

The  Hotel  des  Princes  enjoyed  in  1847  a  certain 
reputation.  It  was  the  Grand  Hotel  of  the  time.  The 
only  apartment  which  Vibert  could  obtain  cost  fifteen 
francs  a  day;  but  the  Count  de  Rubini  took  no  thought 
of  money.  Since  the  morning  he  had  become  so  extrav- 
agant that  he  no  longer  recognized  himself;  so  his  first  ac- 
tion, when  he  was  left  alone,  was  to  look  in  the  glass,  to  see 
if  it  were  really  Vibert  who  drove  about  in  carriages  and 
lived  on  the  second  floor  front  of  the  Hotel  des  Princes. 

The  glass  reflected  his  image.  Only  he  seemed  better 
looking;  luxury  appeared  to  agree  with  him.  When  he 
had  opened  and  emptied  his  bags,  placed  the  toilet 
articles  on  the  bureau,  filled  the  wardrobes  with  clothing, 
he  left  his  rooms,  gave  orders  at  the  office  in  a  lordly  way, 
and  went  out  to  seek  a  lodging  for  Fedora  Vidal. 

It  would  have  been  preferable  for  her  to  have  live.d, 
like  him,  at  the  Hotel  des  Princes,  and  if  he  had  said  to 
her,  "  I  have  engaged  rooms  for  you  near  mine,"  she 
would  not  probably  have  made  any  objection." 

Fedora  had  but  one  thought — vengeance!  Vibert  to 
her  was  not  a  man,  he  was  a  means. 

And  all  means  seemed  good  to  this  outraged  wife,  to 
this  Italian  dominated  by  the  greatest  of  all  passions — 
hatred! 

But,  if  in  her  eyes  he  was  not  a  man,  in  his  she  was 
perhaps  a  woman.  And  the  agent  of  police  had,  in 
regard  to  this  woman,  a  strange  delicacy  of  feeling.  He 
would  not  consent  to  compromise  her,  except  so  far  as 
">as  absolutely  necessary.  He  had  one  constant  thought: 
to  accomplish  his  purpose,  without  making  Fedora  Vidal 
suffer  in  her  womanly  dignity. 

So  he  took  a  great  deal  of  pains  in  choosing  the  apart- 
ment he  had  undertaken  to  procure  for  her.  One  was  too 
near  the  Hotel  des  Princes,  another  too  far.     This  one 


110     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

was  on  the  fourth  floor,  Madame  Vidal  could  not  go  up 
so  high.  Here,  the  chimneys  smoked;  there,  there  was  a 
bad  lookout.  This  apartment  would  suit,  but  it  was  too 
dear,  and  as  Fedora  had  not  won  money  at  play,  received 
no  subsidy  from  the  police,  and  had  to  live  at  her  own 
expense,  Vibert,  so  extravagant  for  himself,  was  very 
economical  for  her. 

Finally,  after  a  long  search,  he  chose  an  apartment 
situated  in  the  Rue  de  Grammont.  He  said  that  he 
engaged  it  for  a  relative  of  his  who  bore  the  same  name 
as  himself,  the  Countess  de  Rubini. 

This  apartment  had  one  great  advantage;  it  was  fur- 
nished throughout.  The  person  who  had  formerly  occu- 
pied it  had  been  obliged  to  leave  Paris  suddenly,  and, 
during  his  absence,  wished  to  let  his  furniture,  which, 
without  being  new,  was  still  fresh  and  in  good  taste.  But 
what  principally  attracted  Vibert  was  the  fact  that  the 
apartment  had  two  entrances  upon  different  staircases. 
The  salon,  besides  its  communication  with  the  dining 
room  and  the  principal  entrance,  had  also  a  door  opening 
into  a  little  corridor  leading  to  a  back  staircase* 

Vibert  arranged  it  so  as  to  be  alone  for  a  moment  in 
the  rooms,  and  took  advantage  of  this  to  put  in  his  pocket 
the  key  of  this  latter  door.  "  One  never  knows  what  may 
happen,"  he  thought,  "  and  it  is  well  to  take  every  pre- 
caution. It  is  sometimes  useless,  but  it  never  does  any 
harm." 

The  agent  of  police  had  not  taken  a  moment's  rest  for 
more  than  thirty-six  hours.  He  returned  home  and  went 
to  bed  early.  But  he  did  not  sleep  so  soundly  as  he  ought. 
Accustomed  to  a  poor  bed  in  the  Rue  de  l'Arbre-Sec,  he 
was  not  at  ease  on  the  spring  mattress  and  feather  bed  of 
the  Hotel  des  Princes.  Perhaps,  also,  his  thoughts  kept 
him  awake. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PA.LX.  Ill 


XV. 

The  next  day  Vibert  breakfasted  about  ten,  and  then 
awaited  Savari's  arrival.  Gambling  debts  ordinarily  being 
paid  in  twenty-four  hours,  he  had  a  right  to  expect  that 
his  debtor  would  soon  appear. 

His  only  fear  was  that  Savari  would  be  able  to  procure 
the  fourteen  thousand  francs  due  and  bring  them  with  him. 
This  promptness,  which  would  have  delighted  any  other 
creditor,  would  cause  Vibert  the  greatest  trouble,  for  his 
plans  rested  on  Savari's  finding  it  impossible  to  discharge 
his  debt.  The  idea  that  he  would  neither  pay  nor  show 
himself  never  once  occurred  to  the  agent  of  police.  Savari, 
since  his  arrest,  was  in  too  false  a  position  to  be  able  to  do 
such  a  thing.  He  was  also  too  prudent  to  give,  just  now, 
any  cause  for  just  offense,  to  have  his  name  bandied 
about,  and  thus  to  call  attention  to  the  sad  affair  in  which 
he  had  been  mixed  up.  It  was  evident,  therefore,  to 
Vibert  that  his  debtor  would  either  pay,  or,  what  was  more 
probable,  not  being  able  to  pay,  would  ask  for  time. 

At  one  o'clock  Savari  had  not  appeared,  and  Vibert, 
whom  the  inaction  rendered  nervous,  began  to  be  worried. 
"  Suppose,  instead  of  calling  upon  me,  he  should  write  to 
me,"  he  thought.  "Still,  he  must  desire  to  meet  her 
again!  it  is  impossible  that  she  did  not  produce  any  im- 
pression on  his  mind,  blase  as  he  is."  Vibert  could  not 
imagine  that  Fedora  Vidal  could  pass  unnoticed,  and  that 
after  having  seen  her  once,  a  man  should  not  desire  to  see 
her  again. 

At  three  o'clock  his  nervous  irritation  was  calmed  and 
his  anxiety  ceased;  a  servant  of  the  hotel  entered  and 
informed  him  that  some  one  desired  to  see  the  Count  de 
Rubini. 


112     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  Adroit  him,"  said  Vibert,  who  at  first  was  a  little  puz 
zled,  the  name  he  had  taken  was  so  new  to  him.     When 
Albert  Savari  appeared,  the  agent  of  police  rose  to  wel- 
come him. 

"Ah!  it  is  you,  dear  Monsieur,"  he  said,  assuming  his 
Italian  accent,  his  exuberance  of  language  and  his  engag- 
ing manners;  "  come  in,  I  pray.  I  am  delighted  to  see 
you.  How  have  you  been  since  yesterday?  I  would 
wager  that  you  have  been  in  bed  ever  since  I  saw  you. 
This  is  what  I  did:  I  took  a  bath  when  I  returned  home, 
and  had  some  champagne  with  my  breakfast.  Ah!  how 
good  your  champagne  is!  One  ought  to  come  to  France 
only  to  drink  it.  Then  I  went  to  bed  and  slept  till  nearly 
an  hour  ago." 

"I  slept  less  than  you,"  said  Savari,  when  he  at  last 
found  an  opportunity  to  put  in  a  word. 

"  Why  so?    You  must  have  been  tired." 

"  Yes,  but  I  was  worried." 

"Worried?  Pshaw!  Sleep  is  the  best  thing  for  worry. 
Ah!  I  see,  you  are  in  love  with  one  of  those  pretty  girls 
we  met  at  Madame  d'Ermont's,  and  indeed  they  were 
charming.  What  grace,  what  wit,  what  elegance!  Ah! 
the  Parisians  are  justly  praised.  Our  Italian  women  can 
not  hold  a  candle  to  them." 

"  Monsieur,"  began  Savari. 

"  No,  no!  You  are  going,  out  of  politeness,  to  flatter  my 
countrywomen.  But  you  will  not  change  my  opinion 
about  them;  they  are  not  equal  to  yours.  Stay,  my 
cousin,  to  whom  I  introduced  you — " 

"  Your  cousin!  "  exclaimed  Savari,  in  astonishment,  as 
Vibert  had  foreseen. 

"  Yes,  don't  you  remember  her?" 

"On  the  contrary;  but  I  did  not  think  she  was  any 
relation  of  yours." 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  113 

«  Why  not?  " 

"Well,  you  see — because  you  took  her  to  Madame 
d'Ermont's." 

"  What  was  there  so  astonishing  in  that?  "  asked  Vibert, 
as  innocently  as  possible. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  sort  of  society  you  were  in?" 
asked  Savari  in  his  turn. 

«"  What  society?  They  played  cards,  to  be  sure.  But 
I  have  heard  that  they  do  that  now  everywhere  in  Paris." 

"  Perhaps.  But  they  play  as  they  did  there  and  till 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  only  in  certain  salons  and 
in  a  certain  society." 

"  What  do  you  tell  me  ?  My  cousin  was  out  of  place, 
then,  at  Madame  Pelagie's?  " 

"  Since  you  ask  the  question — yes." 

"  Good  Heavens  !  That  is  what  it  is  to  be  a  foreigner, 
and  not  to  know  your  customs.  Why,  one  of  my  friends 
said  to  me,  when  I  left  Naples:  '  Go  to  Madame  d'Er- 
mont's, No.  10  Rue  Blanche,  and  tell  her  I  sent  you. 
She  is  a  charming  woman  and  her  house  is  a  very  pleasant 
one.'  " 

Savari  smiled. 

"  And  I,"  continued  Vibert,  "  was  fool  enough  to  in- 
troduce my  cousin  to  her.  Fortunately,  she  spoke  to  no 
one;  every  one  was  playing,  and  no  one  paid  any  atten- 
tion to  her.  But  do  you  know  that  Paris  is  not  a  bit 
like  our  cities.     I  have  everything  to  learn." 

"  In  certain  respects  only,"  said  Savari,  politely. 

11  If  some  one  would  only  teach  me  ! "  exclaimed 
Vibert.  "  I  tremble  at  the  thought  of  committing  some 
new  folly.  This  Madame  Pelagie  d'Ermont  appeared  so 
well,  when  I  called  upon  her." 

"  Being  a  foreigner,  you  might  easily  be  deceived. 
Madame  d'Ermont  was  once  a  married  woman  in  good 

8 


114       FEDORA:  OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

society,  but — that  was  a  long  time  ago.  She  has  still 
good  manners,  when  she  chooses,  and  she  probably  did 
choose,  with  you." 

"  To  such  a  point  that  I  was  entirely  taken  in.  Good 
Heavens  !  if  my  cousin  should  suspect  !  But  it  was 
with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world  that  I  took  her 
there.  Poor  woman  !  She  lost  her  husband  six  months 
ago,  and  I  verily  believe  her  grief  would  have  ended  in 
insanity,  if  she  had  not  decided  to  come  to  France  with 
me.  The  journey  has  already  done  her  some  good,  and, 
since  my  arrival  in  Paris,  I  have  been  trying  to  find  some 
way  of  distracting  her  mind.  It  seems  that  my  first  effort 
in  that  direction  was  not  a  happy  one.  I  should  have 
questioned  more  closely  the  friend  who  spoke  to  me  of 
Madame  d'Ermont.  He  thought  I  was  traveling  alone, 
and  he  mentioned  to  me  a  house  where  only  bachelors 
are  received." 

"  Oh  !  Pelagie  is  not  so  exclusive,"  observed  Savari. 
"She  receives  married  men  also,  but  without  their 
wives." 

"  I  will  never  forgive  Madame  d'Ermont  for  not  having 
told  me  the  truth." 

"You  will  be  wrong,  I  think.  Put  yourself  in  her 
place.  It  was  difficult  to  say  to  you:  'You  take  me, 
Monsieur,  for  an  honest  woman,  but  I  am  not.'  " 

"  That  is  true.     You  are  right.     That  is  very  true." 

"  Then  Pelagie  may  have  thought  that  the  lady  was 
not  really  your  cousin." 

"  She  is,  I  assure  you,"  cried  Vibert,  quickly.  "  She  is 
indeed,  a  Rubini  like  myself.  She  married  one  of  her 
cousins,  who  was  also  my  cousin." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  Monsieur." 

"  She  decided  to  travel  with  me  on  account  of  the  state 
of  her  health;  but  we  do  not  live  together;  I  am  stopping 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  115 

at  this  hotel,  and  she  in  the  Rue  de  Grammont.  You  see 
that—" 

*'  I  repeat,  Monsieur,  I  have  no  doubt  in  the  matter," 
interrupted  Savari,  whom  the  simple-mindedness  of  the 
Count  de  Rubini  was  beginning  to  weary.  "I  have 
come — "  he  continued. 

"  You  have  come  to  settle  a  certain  little  affair.  Don't 
speak  of  that  trifle." 

"  But—" 

"Let  me  believe,  rather,  that  you  wish  to  become 
better  acquainted  with  me.  As  for  the  little  sum  I  had 
the  misfortune  to  win,  put  it  there  on  the  table,  and  let 
us  talk  of  something  else." 

"  But  I — "  began  Savari,  all  the  more  embarrassed 
at  the  easy  manner  of  his  creditor,  who  treated  his  debt 
so  lightly. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  "  asked  Vibert,  carelessly. 

"  I  find  that  I  am  obliged  to  remain  your  debtor  a 
few  days  longer.  On  account  of  various  losses,  I  am 
somewhat  short  of  money,  and — " 

°  What !  really  !  "  said  the  agent  of  police,  in  the  tone 
of  a  person  who  thinks  it  astonishing  that  a  man  should 
find  it  hard  to  pay  so  small  a  sum. 

"  And  I  have  come,  Count,"  continued  Savari,  "  to  ask 
you  to  keep  the  secret  of  my  momentary  lack  of  funds, 
and  to  give  me  a  little  time  to  discharge  my  debt  to 
you." 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  replied  Vibert,  "  I  will 
give  you  all  the  time  you  need,  two  weeks,  three  weeks; 
longer,  if  you  like.  It  would  be  very  ungracious  for  me 
to  refuse,  especially  as  I  want  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a 
great  favor." 

"You?" 

"Yes;  let  me  explain," 


116     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  Pray  go  on,  Monsieur." 

"  You  have  been  able  to  judge  for  yourself,"  continued 
Vibert,  with  that  frankness  and  good  humor  he  knew  so 
well  how  to  employ,  "  that  I  have  had  no  experience  in 
Parisian  society,  and  that  I  am  liable  to  make  some  mis- 
take at  every  step,  if  I  am  not  guided  by  some  ex- 
perienced person.  So,  1  am  very  glad  of  the  opportunity 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  man  like  you,  and  I  ask 
you  frankly  to  aid  me  with  your  knowledge  and  advice." 

"I  am  at  your  disposal,  Monsieur,"  replied  Savari. 
without  hesitation. 

The  proposition  made  to  him  was  too  good  a  one  not  to 
be  accepted  at  once.  He  already  foresaw  vaguely  the 
possibility  of  not  having  to  bother  himself  any  more 
about  a  debt,  which  since  the  day  before,  for  the  reasons 
we  have  explained  and  which  Vibert  perfectly  under- 
stood, had  caused  him  great  anxiety. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness,"  said  Vibert  to  Savari, 
when  the  latter  had  declared  his  willingness  to  grant  his 
request,  "  but  don't  agree  to  undertake  more  than  you 
can  perform.  I  am  not  alone.  I  have  with  me  a  sad, 
suffering  woman,  whom  it  is  my  duty  to  cheer  up.  As 
far  as  you  and  I  alone  are  concerned,  everything  could 
be  arranged;  I  might  perhaps  succeed  in  rendering  my 
society  supportable  to  you,  for  I  should  share  your  tastes 
and  pleasures,  which  would  become  mine.  But,  in 
charging  yourself  with  me,  you  charge  yourself  also  with 
my  cousin,  and  that  is  a  more  difficult  task." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  responded  Savari ;  "  in  the  short 
interview  I  had  with  Madame,  she  appeared  to  mo  to  be 
a  very  charming  woman." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  she  is  a  very  charming  woman, 
for  an  Italian.  She  had  in  Naples,  both  before  and  after 
her  marriage,  a  great  reputation  for  wit.     But  you  Paris- 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PA IX.  117 

ians  are  blase  in  that  respect  and  in  many  others.  Don't 
try  to  make  the  bargain  an  equal  one;  in  taking  charge 
of  us,  the  obligation  is  all  on  my  side." 

"  Very  well,  have  it  so,  if  you  like." 

"  Good!  Then  I  accept,  and,  I  warn  you,  I  shall  not 
be  long  in  putting  your  kindness  to  the  proof." 

"  So  much  the  better." 

"  I  have  in  the  first  place  a  quantity  of  information  to 
obtain  from  you,  addresses,  names  of  tradesmen,  etc.,  and 
then  I  want  your  advice.  We  intend  to  remain  in  Paris 
all  winter  at  least,  and  we  would  like  to  pass  our  time  as 
agreeably  as  possible.  What  shall  we  soe  ?  Where  shall 
we  go?  All  this  is  very  embarrassing  to  decide,  I  assure 
you,  and  you  can  be  of  great  use  to  us.  When  can  I 
present  you  to  my  cousin  at  her  own  house  in  a  more 
correct  manner  than  the  first  time?" 

"  Whenever  you  like." 

"  I  take  you  at  your  word ;  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  be  it." 

They  separated  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward.  Vibert 
was  delighted;  and  perhaps  Savari  was  not  entirely 
dissatisfied  with  the  bargain  he  had  concluded. 


XVI. 

For  the  next  three  weeks  Albert  Savari  was  Vibert's 
constant  companion.  He  rose  and  went  to  the  Hotel  des 
Princes  every  morning,  where  he  usually  breakfasted 
with  the  agent  of  police,  who  better  and  better  played 
his  part  of  a  rich  foreigner. 

In  fact,  Vibert  had  so  identified  himself  with  the  Count 
de  Rubini,  that  he  had  begun  to  forget  that  he  was  only 


118     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

acting  a  part.  He  became  so  accustomed  to  being  called 
Count,  that  a  simple  Monsieur  would  have  hurt  his  feel- 
ings. Even  in  the  privacy  of  his  bedroom,  alone  with 
himself,  he  scarcely  acknowledged  himself  to  be  merely 
a  commoner. 

"  When  I  shall  have  finished  with  this  affair  of  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix,"  he  wrote  one  day  to  his  powerful  pro- 
tector,  the   Marquis   de   X ,  "  I   must  hunt  up  my 

genealogical  tree,  there  must  be  in  my  veins  some  drops 
of  old  aristocratic  blood."  "  "Well,  admit  that  it  is  so, 
imbecile!     What  then?"  replied  the  Marquis. 

As  far  as  expense  went,  Vibert  denied  himself  nothing; 
he  lived  as  if  he  had  always  possessed  an  income  of  twenty- 
five  thousand  francs.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  have  cham- 
pagne frappe  at  breakfast  if  Albert  Savari  were  there, 
and  he  ordered  the  famous  Privat,  steward  of  the  Hotel 
des  Princes,  to  reserve  his  best  wines  for  him. 

To  be  just,  however,  and  to  give  the  generous  and  truly 
hospitable  qualities  of  the  Count  de  Rubini  their  due,  he 
was  extravagant  only  with  his  guest.  When  the  latter 
was  not  present,  Vibert  replaced  the  expensive  wines  with 
a  little  vin  ordinaire.  It  was  the  same  with  numerous 
other  things;  if,  for  example,  Savari  passed  the  evening 
with  him,  he  illuminated  his  apartments  with  the  greatest 
brilliancy;  but,  if  he  were  alone,  he  lit  a  cheap  little  can- 
dle only.     If  he  shut  himself  up  to  write  to  the  Marquis 

de  X or  to  the  Prefecture,  he  took  off  his  frock  coat, 

made  at  a  fashionable  tailor's,  and  put  on  a  coat  which 
he  had  brought  from  the  Rue  de  l'Arbre-Sec,  and  of 
which  he  appeared  to  be  very  fond,  as  he  covered  up  the 
sleeves  with  linen  protectors  in  order  not  to  soil  them. 
In  fact,  Vibert  excelled  in  his  twofold  character:  on 
the  one  side,  appeared  majestically  the  Count  de  Rubini, 
great   lord  to  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  and  on  the  other, 


Iff  THE  RtJE  DE  tA  PAlX.  110 

the  modest  little  police  employe,  economical  by  habit  and 
by  necessity. 

It  was  generally  after  breakfast,  over  their  cigars,  that 
Vibert  discussed  with  Savari  the  plans  of  the  day. 

"  See  here,  mio  caro"  he  would  say,  with  a  negligent 
puff  at  his  cigar,  "  you  are  kind,  obliging,  full  of  thought- 
fulness  for  my  cousin,  and  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart. 
But  we  have  not  carried  out  the  famous  programme  we 
arranged.  We  scarcely  know  Paris  better  than  we  did 
six  weeks  ago.  What  have  we  done?  In  the  first  place, 
you  have  taken  us  to  dine  in  the  Palais  Royal ;  do  you 
remember  that  day  you  gave  us  such  a  proof  of  what  a 
strong  head  you  have?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"Madame  de  Rubini  tried  capriciously  to  make  you 
drink  too  much,  and  I  seconded  her.  Bah!  it  was  impos- 
sible. You  drank  all  we  wished,  but  you  remained  per- 
fectly sober.  We  could  not  obtain  the  slightest  confidence 
from  you." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  none  to  give." 

"  Every  one  has:  especially  a  young  man  who  has  lived 
as  you  have.  Ah!  you  are  discreet  with  your  friends, 
you  don't  open  your  heart  to  them.  Take  example  from 
me,  I  am  frankness  itself,  you  know  my  whole  life,  I 
have  told  you  all  my  little  secrets.  But  no  matter  about 
that.  Since  that  dinner,  what  have  we  done?  Nothing, 
absolutely  nothing.  We  ought  to  visit  all  the  famous 
places  of  Paris.  I  can  not  return  to  Naples,  and  say  that 
I  have  seen  none  of  the  sights." 

"  That  would  be  deplorable." 

"  You  needn't  laugh ;  it  would  be  deplorable.  It  is  well 
enough  not  to  go  to  the  theatre,  as  Madame  de  Rubini  is 
in  mourning.  But  we  must  see  the  sights.  When  will 
you  take  us  to  Notre-Dame,  to  the  Louvre,  to  the  Luxem- 


120  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

bourg,  to  the  Tuileries,  to  the  Palais  de  Justice?  I  espe- 
cially long  to  see  the  Palais  de  Justice." 

"  Bah!  it  is  not  very  interesting." 

"Ah!  that  is  just  like  you  Parisians.  You  are  so 
blase  that  you  admire  nothing,  absolutely  nothing.  You 
scarcely  deign  to  cast  a  disdainful  look  at  what  is  world- 
famous.  I  would  bet  that  you  have  never  asked  permis- 
sion to  visit  your  prisons." 

"No,  indeed,  I  confess  it;  I  have  visited  them  without 
permission." 

"  Indeed!     How  was  that?  " 

"  It  would  take  too  long  to  explain  it  to  you." 

"Could  you  not  manage  it  for  me,  too?  Come,  take 
me  there." 

"  I  can't  promise." 

"  You  are  not  anxious  to  see  such  places,  then?  " 

\  Once  is  sufficient." 

"  Then  arrange  it  so  I  can  go  alone." 

"  I  will  try  to  do  so." 

"And  the  Arsenal,  the  Gobelins,  etc.,  etc.  Why,  I 
shall  never  get  through  with  them  all." 

"It  is  better  not  to  commence, then." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  want  to  commence  as  soon  as  possible. 
Why,  I  don't  even  know  your  principal  streets;  you  took 
us  one  evening  to  the  Rue  Vivienne,  the  Rue  de  la 
Chaussee-d'Antin  and  the  Rue  Laffitte,  but  we  have  not 
had  a  glimpse  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  of  which  we  have 
heard  so  much  in  Italy.  Tell  me  frankly,  why  we  have 
never  been  to  walk  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix?" 

"  Because  we  have  not  happened  to  be  near  it,  I  sup- 
pose," replied  Savari,  very  simply,  while  Vibert  watched 
him  closely. 

"Well,  when  shall  we  see  all  these  things?" 

"  Whenever  you  like." 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  121 

"To-day,  then." 

"Very  well,  to-day." 

Such  were  the  projects  which  were  constantly  formed 
and  never  executed.  His  little  scene  once  played,  the 
agent  of  police,  who  did  not  think  it  best  to  show  him- 
self much  in  public  with  Fedora  Vidal,  did  not  recall  to 
Savari  his  promises,  and  the  latter  had  good  reasons  for 
not  refreshing  Vibert's  memory. 

After  breakfast,  about  three  o'clock,  they  would  go  to 
Fedora's  in  the  Rue  de  Grammont,  chat  by  the  fireside, 
and  sometimes,  though  rarely,  drive  out  in  a  close  car- 
riage. They  usually  dined  and  spent  the  evening  to- 
gether. 

Vibert  had  thus  organized  about  Savari  one  of  the  nar- 
rowest and  strangest  surveillances  that  could  be  imagined* 
Narrow,  in  this  sense,  that  he  watched  not  only  the  indi- 
vidual himself,  but  his  smallest  gesture,  word  and  look. 
Strange,  because  it  was  the  person  watched  who  came 
every  day  to  seek  the  agent  of  police  and  give  himself 
up  to  his  scrutiny.  Without  the  slightest  trouble,  either 
in  his  own  apartments  or  at  Fedora's,  Vibert  performed 
his  duty.  And  what  a  duty!  Always  ready  to  lay  a  trap 
for  his  adversary,  to  profit  by  his  least  mistake,  to  scruti- 
nize his  every  action,  his  every  word,  to  obtain  against 
him  moral  and  material  proofs,  which  he  still  thought  he 
should  sooner  or  later  discover. 

Still,  if  we  might  presume  to  criticise  the  conduct  of  so 
clever  an  agent  as  Vibert,  we  should  say  that  he  had 
been  committing  a  mistake  for  some  time.  What  had 
been  his  purpose  in  asking  Fedora  to  aid  him?  What 
had  been  his  arguments  to  induce  her  to  do  so?  After 
having  clearly  established  that  Savari,  in  consequence  o 
his  dissipated  life,  had  never  really  loved,  he  had  exclaimed 
"  He  must  love  you."     And  as  Fedora,  stupefied,  did  not 


122     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

comprehend,  he  had  added:  "That  is  the  only  way  we 
can  arrive  at  the  truth.  Savari  does  not  know  you  and 
can  not  suspect  you;  you  must  form  a  part  of  his  life, 
gain  his  confidence,  and  sooner  or  later  you  will  unmask 
him.  You  will  be  the  Delilah  of  this  new  Samson;  you 
will  cut  his  locks  and  deliver  him  up  to  the  Philistines." 
In  this  plan,  then,  it  was  Fedora  who  was  to  play  the 
principal  r61e,  and  not  Vibert.  His  part  was  to  have 
been  that  of  the  confidant,  to  keep  as  much  as  possible 
in  the  green  room  and  to  appear  on  the  stage  only  at 
rare  intervals,  to  listen  to  a  tirade,  to  dry  the  heroine's 
tears  and  comfort  her.  In  a  word,  he  was  to  have  only  a 
subordinate  part  in  the  action  of  the  piece. 

But,  carried  away  doubtless  by  his  artistic  instincts, 
animated  by  too  much  zeal,  he  had  increased  his  part  and 
made  it  a  leading  one.  He  would  suddenly  leave  the 
green  room,  without  being  called,  and  glide  upon  the 
stage  in  the  midst  of  a  scene  which  should  have  been 
confined  to  the  principal  actors — Fedora  and  Savari. 

Had  Fedora  asked  him  to  lend  her  his  aid?  Was  she 
afraid  of  coming  into  too  close  contact  with  Savari?  Did 
she  fear  that,  if  left  to  herself,  she  would  not  be  able  to 
play  her  part  well,  would  betray  herself,  would  be  unable 
to  hide  her  horror  of  the  man  she  persisted  in  suspecting? 
But  Vibert  was  not  indispensable  to  Madame  Vidal ;  she 
might  have  summoned,  to  make  a  third  at  these  interviews 
and  interrupt  some  dangerous  tete-a-tete,  Marietta,  her 
maid,  countrywoman  and  friend.  Besides,  Fedora  was  not 
so  timid  as  all  this.  She  must  have  had  a  very  strong  char- 
acter and  great  courage  to  have  accepted  the  part  Vibert 
had  proposed  to  her,  to  have  consented  to  throw  herself 
into  the  breach  as  she  had  done,  to  have  become  volun- 
tarily the  accomplice  of  an  agent  of  police,  and  to  obey  so 
scrupulously  the  wishes  of  Maurice  Vidal.     Such  a  woman 


IN  THE  BUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  123 

would  walk  right  straight  to  her  goal,  without  asking  aid 
from  any  one  or  even  crying  out  for  help. 

Must  she  not  desire  to  prolong  as  little  as  possible  the 
cruel  position  she  was  in,  and  to  get  rid  of  Savari,  either 
because  she  recognized  his  innocence,  or  because  she  had 
given  him  up  to  justice? 

The  mistakes  we  have  mentioned  could  therefore  be 
attributed  only  to  Vibert.  He  prolonged  this  false  situa- 
tion, and  instead  of  keeping  in  the  background  as  he 
should  have  done,  he  prevented  Savari  from  seeing  Fedora 
alone  and  thus  perhaps  betraying  himself. 

And  yet  the  ground  was  prepared,  the  hour  propitious; 
all  Vibert's  calculations  had  proved  good.  Did  not  his  plan 
depend  entirely  on  the  love  which  Fedora  must  necessarily 
inspire  in  Savari?     And  could  this  love  be  slow  to  appear? 

In  answer  to  this  last  question,  let  us  cast  a  rapid 
glance  over  the  events  of  Savari's  life. 

Albert  Savari's  father  was  forty  years  old  and  held  a 
modest  position  in  the  prefect's  office  of  the  department 
of  the  Meurthe,  when  he  made  the  mistake  of  falling  in 
love  with  a  very  pretty  woman,  named  Coralie,  who  was 
the  cashier  of  the  Cafe  Stanislas  at  Nancy. 

After  having  paid  assiduous  court  to  her  for  many 
months,  he  decided  to  marry  her,  despite  the  advice  of  his 
friends  and  the  remonstrances  of  his  employers. 

Such  a  marriage  could  not  prove  a  happy  one. 

At  the  end  of  two  years,  Coralie  eloped  one  fine  day 
with  an  officer  of  the  garrison.  Savari's  father  died,  not 
long  afterward,  of  an  illness  brought  on  by  this  event.  In 
his  last  moments,  he  addressed  no  reproach  to  the  one  who 
had  so  cruelly  abandoned  him,  and  who  was  now  living  in 
Paris,  surrounded  with  luxury.  He  simply  begged  her  to 
watch  over  the  son,  who  had  been  born  in  the  first  year  of 
their  marriage,  and  whom  he  left  penniless  and  unprotected. 


124  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

To  do  Coral ie  justice,  she  at  once  answered  this  appeal. 
She  sent  for  the  child  and  took  care  of  his  education. 
But  what  bringing  up  can  the  son  of  such  a  woman 
receive?  It  is  in  vain  for  her  to  attempt  to  hide  her  life,  to 
have,  as  far  as  her  child  is  concerned,  the  delicacy  of  an 
honest  woman;  she  invariably  betrays  herself  in  some  way, 
either  by  some  allusion  which  escapes  her,  or  some  indis- 
creet action  she  commits;  or  perhaps  some  speech  is  made 
which  she  could  not  foresee  and  which  she  could  not 
prevent  him  from  hearing. 

The  child  grows,  compares  and  reflects:  he  perceives 
that  his  mother,  when  she  comes  to  see  him  at  school, 
is  not  dressed  like  other  ladies;  her  behavior  is  different, 
she  has  a  way  of  expressing  herself  which  seems  to  shock 
everybody;  the  parents  of  the  other  pupils  avoid  sitting 
beside  her  ;  the  principal  speaks  to  her  with  less  respect 
than  to  the  other  mothers,  although  she  pays  her  son's 
bills  with  perfect  regularity.  On  Sundays  and  during 
vacation  he  constantly  sees  new  faces  at  home;  there  are 
men  who  pet  him  and  give  him  presents,  and  whom  he 
never  sees  again.  When  he  asks  his  mother,  "  What 
has  become  of  such  a  one?  I  never  see  him  now,"  the 
mother  answers,  "  I  have  quarreled  with  him."  He  ends 
by  discovering  that  his  mother  quarrels  very  often. 

Then  he  is  present  at  disagreeable  scenes  with  creditors, 
etc.;  they  try  to  hide  things  from  him,  but  childhood  is 
so  curious. 

Finally,  some  day  he  finds  out  all.  Some  comrade 
older  than  he,  some  rumor  which  has  reached  the  school, 
or  some  indiscretion  or  accident,  tells  him  the  whole  story. 
He  knows  that  his  birth  places  him  outside  of  respectable 
soeiety,  as  his  mother  has  been  and  is. 

Sometimes  this  sad  discovery  brings  about  good 
results. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  125 

He  says  to  himself  that,  after  all,  his  mother  has  taken 
care  of  him,  petted  him,  loved  him,  that  she  has  given 
him  everything  except  respect,  and  this  respect  he  must 
acquire  by  hard  work. 

He  was  a  child;  suddenly,  as  by  enchantment,  he  has 
become  a  man. 

But  this  is  only  the  exception;  in  most  cases,  bad  ex- 
amples have  produced  their  fruit  and  the  child  sinks  to 
his  mother's  level. 

That  is  what  happened  to  Albert  Savari.  He  had 
scarcely  attained  his  twenty-third  year,  when  Coralie 
died,  leaving  him  in  possession  of  a  magnificent  estab- 
lishment, two  carriages,  three  horses,  a  quantity  of  jewels, 
twenty-eight  dresses,  five  Indian  shawls  and  fifty-two 
francs  in  money.  An  auction  was  held  which  brought  in 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  upon  which 
a  multitude  of  creditors  pounced.  "When  all  claims  were 
settled,  there  remained  to  Albert  Savari  thirty  thousand 
francs.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  he  hastened  to  squander 
them,  and  that  he  had  recourse  to  gambling  at  cards  and 
upon  the  Bourse,  to  direct  and  indirect  loans,  to  a  variety 
of  little  stratagems  to  enable  him  to  continue  to  live  as  he 
had  done,  thanks  to  the  unintelligent  tenderness  and  com- 
plete want  of  foresight  of  his  mother. 

This  odd,  hand-to-mouth  existence,  which  one  can  live 
only  in  Paris  and  which  is  that  of  many  young  men,  was 
diversified  with  numerous  so-called  love  affairs.  Savari 
took  after  his  mother;  he  fancied  himself  in  love  many 
times,  but  he  had  neither  the  time  nor  the  leisure  to  be 
seriously  so.     He  loved  women;  he  did  not  love  a  woman. 

We  do  not  mean  to  say,  however,  that  he  ever  gave 
himself  up  to  vulgar  intrigues  with  women  of  no  reputa- 
tion. Thanks  to  the  education  he  had  received  at  one  of 
the  best  schools  in  Paris,  to  the  distinguished  manners  he 


126  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

had  copied  from  certain  friends  of  his  mother's,  to  the 
care  he  took  to  conceal  his  origin,  thanks  above  all  to  his 
remarkable  adaptability,  to  his  excessive  tact  and  his 
brilliant  mental  qualities,  he  managed  to  gain  the  entree 
to  many  respectable  houses  and  to  ingratiate  himself  with 
more  than  one  woman  in  good  society.  Only,  to  be  in 
favor  with  such  a  woman  does  not  necessarily  imply  real 
love  on  either  side.  There  are  women  whose  birth,  dis- 
tinction and  fortune  place  them  in  the  first  ranks  of 
society,  who  treat  love  as  lightly,  more  lightly  perhaps, 
than  women  in  the  lowest  social  scale.  Their  only  virtue 
consists  in  not  being  mercenary,  and  in  committing  from 
impulse  the  faults  other  women  commit  from  calculation 
and  to  obtain  the  necessaries  of  life.  Liaisons  of  this 
sort  are  binding  on  neither  side;  they  leave  behind  no 
deep  memories  nor  bitter  regrets.  They  cease  as  they  were 
begun,  and  sometimes  good  friendships  are  founded  upon 
these  ephemeral  love  affairs. 

Such  had  been  Savari's  experience;  many  love  affairs, 
no  real  love. 

Vibert  had  guessed  correctly,  and  he  had  also  compre- 
hended that  the  time  was  come  when  this  man,  still 
young;  jaded,  but  not  worn  out;  incredulous  in  regard 
to  many  things,  but  ready  to  believe  in  new  things;  this 
man  who  had  always  lived  like  a  bird  of  passage,  must 
desire  ardently  to  make  an  end  of  these  enervating  pleas- 
ures of  which  he  was  weary,  to  enter  upon  a  better  life, 
to  replace  caprice,  with  which  he  was  too  well  acquainted, 
with  love,  of  which  he  knew  nothing. 

And  what  woman  was  better  adapted  thanJFedora  Vidal 
to  inspire  him  with  this  love?  Her  beauty  resembled  in 
no  respect  that  of  the  women  whom  Savari  had  hitherto 
encountered.  She  spoke  little  and  only  in  monosyllables 
in  reply  to  some  direct  question,  and  there  was  then  in  her 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  127 

voice  a  certain  vibrating  quality  which  produced  a  strange 
impression.  There  was  in  her  a  mixture  of  sadness, 
bravery  and  sweetness,  of  strange  contrasts  which  attracted 
the  imagination,  and,  little  by  little,  won  the  heart. 

It  was  impossible  that  Savari  should  not  feel  the  charm 
of  her  fatal  beauty.  He  recognized  the  kind  of  fascina- 
tion which  she  might  exercise  over  him,  the  danger  which 
he  was  running;  but,  instead  of  avoiding  and  flying  from 
this  danger,  he  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in  courting  it. 

Perhaps  he  had  some  serious  sorrow  which  he  wished 
to  forget;  perhaps  he  suffered  from  some  hidden  trouble, 
which  he  hoped  to  cure  by  a  still  graver  one.  Might  he 
not  know,  not  because  he  had  proved  it,  but  from  having 
heard  it  stated,  that  a  real  love,  an  unfortunate  love,  a 
hopeless  passion,  brings  a  terrible  but  efficacious  cure  to 
all  other  troubles? 

This  situation  was  prolonged  for  some  time,  about  a 
month;  and  then  Savari  had  no  longer  but  one  thought; 
to  be  alone  with  Fedora,  and  to  be  free  from  the  impor- 
tunate presence  of  Vibert. 


XVII. 

The  latter,  however,  seemed  less  and  less  inclined  to 
give  up  his  surveillance.  The  more  efforts  Savari  made 
to  get  rid  of  him,  the  more  he  clung  to  his  habitual  place 
in  Madame  Vidal's  salon. 

Why  did  he  act  thus?  Did  he  take  in  serious  earnest 
his  role  of  relative  and  guardian  ?  A  suspicious  husband 
or  a  jealous  lover,  who  has  the  greatest  interest  in  remain- 
ing near  the  woman  he  loves,  sometimes  is  absent;  but 
Vibert,  on  the  contrary,  whom   common  sense  and   his 


128  FEDOKA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

own  interest  ordered  to  withdraw,  persisted  in  remaining 
always.  Was  he,  like  Savari,  under  Fedora's  magnetio 
influence,  and  near  her  did  he  forget  that  he  was  only  a 
simple  agent  of  police,  delegated  by  the  Prefecture  to 
enlighten  justice  as  to  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  a  sus- 
pected person? 

One  day,  however,  Savari  determined  to  see  Fedora 
Vidal  alone,  without  being  embarrassed  by  Vibert's 
presence.  He  made  an  appointment,  as  usual,  with  him, 
but  instead  of  joining  him  at  the  Hotel  des  Princes,  he 
went  directly  to  the  Rue  de  Grammont. 

Marietta  informed  her  mistress  that  Savari  was  alone 
and  that  he  asked  to  be  received.  Fedora  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  then  took  courage,  embraced  Marietta,  and 
joined  Savari.  Perhaps  she  thought  that  it  was  time  to 
put  an  end  to  a  situation  which  had  become  intolerable, 
and  perhaps  also  she  saw  that  Vibert,  instead  of  aiding 
her,  was  interfering  with  her  designs. 

"When  she  entered  the  salon,  she  was,  as  usual, 
dressed  in  mourning.  According  to  the  Italian  fashion,  a 
long  lace  veil,  fastened  to  the  head  by  jet  pins,  half 
covered  her  hair  and  fell  over  her  shoulders.  This 
entirely  black  toilet  increased  her  stature,  showed  off  her 
fine  figure  to  the  best  advantage,  and  gave  to  her  beau- 
tiful face  the  greatest  charm. 

Savari  gazed  in  admiration  and  did  not  dare  to  speak. 
This  man,  who  up  to  this  time  had  never  been  timid  or 
lacking  in  boldness,  whose  principle  in  love  had  been 
that  faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady,  trembled  when 
Fedora  appeared,  felt  his  heart  beat  violently,  and  could 
recall  none  of  the  speeches  he  had  prepared  in  advance. 

u  I  expected  to  find  him  here,"  replied  Savari. 

She  was  the  first  to  break  the  embarrassing  silence. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  Count?" 


IN  THE   RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  129 

"  I  thought,  on  the  contrary,  that  you  had  arranged  to 
meet  him  at  his  hotel." 

"  So  I  had,  but  I  was  late,  and  I  thought  that  instead 
of  waiting  for  me  he  had  come  here.  Is  my  presence 
disagreeable  to  you,  Madame?  " 

"To  me?  Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  she  answered, 
carelessly. 

"  I  am  glad,  Madame,  to  have  the  opportunity  of  see- 
ing you  alone." 

"Have  you  anything  to  say  to  me?"  she  inquired, 
quietly. 

"Yes,  I  have  many  things  to  say  to  you,"  responded 
Savari,  eagerly. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  listen  to  you,  Monsieur." 

"Monsieur!  Monsieur!  You  always  call  me  Monsieur," 
he  said,  in  an  aggrieved  tone. 

"  Is  that  not  the  proper  expression?  "  she  asked,  feign- 
ing not  to  understand  him.  "I  am  not  very  familiar 
with  the  French  language,  and  I  am  always  glad  to  be 
corrected." 

"It  was  perfectly  proper;  I  did  not  mean  that." 

Then  rising,  he  said: 

"  Ah  !  pardon  me,  Madame;  I  am  nervous,  uneasy, 
agitated.     Pardon  me." 

"  Why,  certainly,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  But  tell  me  the 
reason  of  your  agitation." 

He  approached  Fedora,  sat  down  beside  her,  and  said: 

"  Do  you  not  understand,  then?" 

"  What?  " 

"  You  do  not  understand  that  a  man  can  not  live  near 
you  with  impunity  for  more  than  two  months;  that  it  is 
dangerous  for  a  man's  reason  to  see  you  constantly,  to 
breathe  the  same  air  as  you,  to — " 

He  was  about  to  continue,  but,  raising  his  eyes  to  her 
0 


130  FEDORA  :   OB,  THE  TRAGEDY 

face,  he  stopped  short.  There  was  a  strange  expression 
on  Fedora's  face;  she  was  pale  to  the  lips  and  her  features 
were  rigid.  With  her  usual  courage,  she  had  not  hesi- 
tated to  face  danger,  but  she  had  presumed  too  much  on 
her  strength.  At  the  first  words  of  love  which  escaped 
from  Savari,  her  whole  being  revolted;  her  womanly 
modesty  and  delicacy  were  shocked. 

What!  was  it  to  her  that  one  dared  to  speak  of  love! 
To  her,  whose  husband  was  scarcely  cold  in  his  grave! 
And  this  man  she  suspected  of  being  the  cause  of  her 
husband's  death!  Ah!  she  had  not  foreseen  what  she 
would  be  obliged  to  suffer. 

Neither  spoke  for  some  time;  he  alarmed,  and  she,  half 
fainting. 

Little  by  little,  however,  Fedora  recovered  her  self-con- 
trol; she  passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead  as  if  to  colleot 
her  thoughts;  she  appeared  to  take  a  desperate  resolution, 
and  turning  and  looking  Savari  in  the  face,  she  said: 

"You  love  me,  then?" 

He  had  not  expected  this  speech.  From  the  expression 
of  her  face,  he  had  anticipated  being  ordered  to  change 
the  conversation,  to  be  silent,  or  perhaps  to  retire.  She 
had,  on  the  contrary,  completed  his  sentence  and  come  to 
his  aid;  she  had  encouraged  him  to  proceed,  instead  of 
dismissing  him. 

When  he  had  recovered  from  his  first  astonishment,  he 
determined  to  seize  the  opportunity  presented  to  him  to 
speak  of  the  love  which  filled  his  heart.  By  a  quick 
movement  which  Madame  Vidal  could  not  prevent,  he 
seized  her  hands,  and  drawing  her  toward  him,  he  ex- 
claimed: 

"  Yes,  I  love  you  as  I  have  never  loved,  as  I  did  not 
think  myself  capable  of  loving!  You  are  my  first,  my 
only  love!     If  you  could  only  know  that  I  am  speaking  the 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  131 

truth!  If  you  could  only  know  how  unhappy  I  am  away 
from  you,  and  how  great  my  happiness  is  when  I  am  by 
your  side !  The  first  time  my  eyes  fell  upon  you,  I  thought 
I  had  never  seen  so  beautiful  a  woman.  Yes,  there  is  no 
other  beauty  to  equal  yours;  in  you  is  all  charm,  all  per- 
fection, all  distinction,  all  fascination!  And  I,  who 
thought  myself  so  strong,  so  invulnerable,  suddenly  under- 
stood what  an  empire  beauty  like  yours  could  exercise 
over  me;  I  made  up  my  mind  never  to  see  you  again,  to 
fly  from  you!  But  I  could  not!  He  brought  me  here;  he 
made  me  his  companion.  I  obeyed  my  fate.  But  I  knew 
what  was  in  store  for  me,  that  near  you  I  should  lose  my 
strength,  my  peace  of  mind,  that  I  should  love  you  madly!" 

Savari's  clasp  had  become  too  close,  his  words  and 
looks  too  passionate,  and  Fedora  could  bear  it  no  longer; 
she  disengaged  her  hands  from  his,  rose,  stepped  back- 
ward, and  leaned  against  the  marble  mantel-piece. 

"Have  I  encouraged  your  love?"  she  asked. 

"  No,  never,"  he  replied,  "  neither  by  word  nor  look, 
and  that  is  what  proved  my  ruin.  Ah!  if  you  could 
know  the  style  of  women  I  have  come  in  contact  vritL 
heretofore.  What  easy  victories!  You  asked  me  just 
now  if  you  had  ever  encouraged  me,  and  I  answered  no. 
I  retract.  Yes,  you  have  encouraged  me,  or  rather,  never 
have  I  met  a  woman  who  has  more  successfully  played 
the  coquette,  although  perhaps  you  did  it  unconsciously. 
You  did  not  understand  that  your  obstinate  silence  and 
coldness  were  a  sort  of  challenge.  I  longed  to  conquer 
you  and  gain  your  love.     I  long  for  it  still." 

Savari  was  no  longer  the  man  we  saw  defend  himself 
with  so  much  calmness  and  coolness  against  an  accusa- 
tion of  murder,  in  the  magistrate's  office.  His  cheeks 
were  flushed,  his  eyes  expressed  even  more  than  his  lips 
said;  he  was  animated,  excited.    For  the  first  time  in  his 


132  FEDORA  *.   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

life,  perhaps,  Albert  Savari  lived.  Passion  had  metamor- 
phosed him;  it  had  made  of  a  cold,  self-contained,  cun- 
ning man,  a  young,  ardent  and  thoughtless  being. 

He  was  about  to  continue  and  to  open  his  entire  heart, 
when  Vibert  was  announced. 

One  glance  enabled  the  agent  of  police  to  take  in  the 
scene  and  to  understand  the  situation.  He  frowned  and  a 
pallor  spread  over  his  face,  but  he  advanced  toward  Fedora 
with  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  asked  after  her  health,  and 
then  turning  to  Savari,  said  to  him,  affecting  good 
humor: 

"  Well,  you  are  a  nice  fellow  to  come  here,  when  I  was 
waiting  for  you  at  the  hotel !  " 

Savari  repeated  what  he  had  already  said  to  Madame 
Vidal,  and  his  explanation  appeared  satisfactory  to  Vibert. 
But  when  the  latter  commenced  to  speak  of  indifferent 
things,  the  weather,  the  news  of  the  day,  etc.,  Savari,  still 
affected  by  the  thoughts  he  had  expressed,  and  not  feel- 
ing able  to  take  part  in  the  conversation,  rose  and  pleaded 
a  pressing  engagement  as  an  excuse  for  withdrawing. 

"  Do  not  forget  that  we  dine  together,"  exclaimed 
Vibert,  "  Cafe  Anglais,  seven  o'clock  !  " 

Savari  was  about  to  invent  some  pretext  for  declining 
this  invitation,  when  his  eyes  happened  to  rest  upon 
Fedora.  Still  leaning  against  the  mantle,  with  one  hand 
supporting  her  head,  she  seemed  absorbed  in  reflection, 
and  she  looked  so  lovely  that  he  could  not  deny  himself 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  again  that  evening. 

"Very  well,"  he  replied,  "I  will  be  there." 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PALX.  133 


XVIII. 

He  had  been  gone  for  some  time,  and  Fedora  still  kept 
silence.  Vibert  had  retired  into  a  corner  of  the  room 
and  was  observing  her  attentively.  One  'would  have 
said  that  he  was  striving  to  divine  her  thoughts,  to  read 
her  heart,  and  that  he  suffered  from  the  discoveries  he 
made.  His  suffering  became  probably  too  intense,  for 
suddenly  he  rose  and  advancing  toward  Fedora,  said 
brusquely: 

"Well?" 

She  drew  herself  up,  looked  at  him  and  said: 

u  Ah  !  pardon  me,  Monsieur;  I  did  not  know  that  you 
were  there." 

"  So  I  thought,"  replied  Vibert,  with  a  sort  of  bitter- 
ness he  could  not  conceal.  "  I  am  no  longer  of  any  con- 
sequence here,  now  that  you  no  longer  need  my  services, 
but  conduct  your  affairs  by  yourself." 

After  a  pause,  he  continued,  more  gently: 

"At  least  something  must  have  resulted  from  this  long 
interview?" 

"  No,"  she  replied. 

"  You  are  no  further  advanced  than  before?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  we  must  begin  all  over  again." 

"  No,"  she  said  again. 

Astonished  at  this  last  response,  he  questioned  her 
with  a  look,  when  suddenly  she  left  the  fire-place,  ad- 
vanced toward  Vibert,  and  said  to  him: 

"  Do  you  know,  what  we  are  doing  is  infamous  ! " 

"  Why?  "  he  asked. 


134  FEDORA  !   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"  Beoause  he  loves  me  and  he  suffers." 

"  Really  1 "  cried  the  agent  of  police,  no  less  moved 
than  Fedora;  "  he  loves  you  and  he  has  told  you  so  ! " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  believe  him?  " 

"  I  believe  him." 

He  folded  his  arms,  advanced  toward  her  as  she  had 
advanced  toward  him,  and  said  sharply: 

"Well!  why  need  that  trouble  you?" 

"  I  have  no  right  to  make  him  suffer  so,"  she  answered. 

He  regarded  her  narrowly,  and  responded  in  a  low, 
harsh  voice: 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  considering  he  is  the  man 
who  killed  your  husband?" 

"  Suppose  he  did  not  kill  him?  " 

"  Ah  !  you  doubt,  now  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  doubt,"  she  replied,  lowering  her  head,  as  if 
ashamed  of  her  weakness.  "  When  he  is  not  here,"  she 
continued,  "  when  I  am  alone  with  my  thoughts,  it  seems 
to  me  still  that  he  is  guilty,  and  as  formerly,  I  wish  to 
be  avenged ;  but  when  he  is  by  my  side,  I  am  no  longer 
sure  of  myself,  I  doubt." 

Pale  and  with  quivering  lips,  he  listened  to  her  without 
interrupting.     When  she  had  finished,  he  said: 

"  We  must  have  done  with  all  uncertainty.  This  can 
last  no  longer." 

"  No,"  she  repeated,  "  it  can  last  no  longer." 

"He  must  give  us,  once  for  all,"  continued  Vibert, 
"  proofs  of  his  innocertoe,  and  then  my  task  will  be  accom- 
plished. I  shall  return  to  my  former  occupation  and  shall 
have  nothing  more  to  do  here." 

He  spoke  sharply,  almost  excitedly,  but  Fedora  was  too 
agitated  to  notice  anything  strange  in  his  manner. 

"  If,  on  the  contrary,"  he  continued,  "  Sayari  is  guilty, 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  135 

as  I  still  believe,  as  I  am  sure,  he  must  betray  himself; 
we  must  free  ourselves  from  him." 

These  last  words,  "  we  must  free  ourselves  from  him," 
were  spoken  by  the  agent  of  police  in  a  singular  manner. 
But  he  whispered  them,  probably,  rather  than  spoke  them, 
for  Madame  took  no  notice  of  them,  but  replied  only  to 
the  first  part  of  his  speech. 

"  It  is  not  enough,"  she  exclaimed,  "  to  say,  he  must 
betray  himself;  what  means  have  you  of  making  him 
do  so?" 

"  I  have  a  means  here,"  said  Vibert,  drawing  from  his 
pocket  a  long,  narrow  object,  wrapped  up  in  paper. 

And  'as  she  looked  at  him  in  astonishment,  he  asked 
her  abruptly,  without  any  preparation : 

"  Do  you  know,  Madame,  what  weapon  your  husband's 
assassin  used?" 

She  turned  pale,  and  replied: 

"  A  knife  or  a  dagger." 

"A  knife;  a  knife  which  you  know,  for  it  belonged  to 
M.  Vidal.  If  you  have  missed  it,  it  was  because  the 
police  had  taken  possession  of  it." 

"  And  this  knife  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  still  paler,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  object  Vibert  held  in  his  hands. 

"  The  authorities,  at  my  request,  ordered  it  be  given  to 
me.    Here  it  is  !  " 

She  recoiled  with  a  cry. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"  I  shall  place  it  in  Savari's  hands,  and  perhaps,  when 
he  recognizes  it,  he  will  betray  himself.  You  would  not 
care,  probably,  to  be  present  at  the  time  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  do  wish  to  be  present,"  she  cried; 
"  it  is  my  duty." 

"I  intend  to  try  the  experiment  this  very  evening." 

"This  evening?     Very   well!     But,"   she   continued, 


136  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"  how  will  you  explain  how  this  weapon  came  into  your 
hands?  To  show  it  to  him  is  to  betray  yourself,  to  betray 
us  both." 

"  No,  not  so  much  as  you  think.  I  hare  thought  of  that, 
and  I  know  what  I  shall  say.  Then,  what  difference  does 
it  make  if  he  does  know  now  who  you  are — who  we  are? 
Have  you  not  decided  that  this  shall  all  cease?  And  have 
I  not  declared  to  you,  that  this  experiment  shall  be  the 
last?  If  he  comes  out  of  it  victorious,  if  his  innocence 
is  proven  to  you,  will  you  continue  to  receive  him,  and 
do  you  desire  to  make  him  your  friend?  " 

"  No,  certainly  not !  "  she  cried. 

"  If,  on  the  contrary,  this  experiment  is  convincing,  what 
matters  it  whether  he  knows  us  or  not?  Ah!  in  that 
case,  I  swear  to  you  he  is  lost ! " 

No  words  could  describe  the  expression  with  which  the 
agent  of  police  pronounced  this  sentence.  There  was 
in  his  tone  at  once  anger,  hatred  and  anguish.  Fedora 
was  frightened,  and  for  the  first  time,  perhaps,  her  atten- 
tion was  drawn  to  Vibert. 

They  separated  soon  after,  agreeing  to  meet  the  same 
evening  at  the  Cafe*  Anglais. 


XIX. 

Instead  of  entering  the  police  force,  Vibert  should 
have  become  a  dramatic  author,  and  he  would  unques- 
tionably have  obtained  great  success.  He  would  have 
excelled  in  constructing  the  plots  of  his  pieces,  in  imagin- 
ary situations,  and  no  one  could  have  rivaled  him  in  the 
mounting  of  the  play. 

He  desired  that  Savari,  the  principal  hero  of  his  drama, 


IN  THE  KUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  137 

should  betray  himself  and  be  unmasked,  and  he  believed 
he  had  found  the  means  of  effecting  this  by  placing  in  his 
hands  the  weapon  used  to  commit  the  crime.  How  care- 
fully and  with  what  infinite  care  he  had  prepared  for  his 
great  scene!  He  might  have  presented  this  situation  in 
the  first  act  of  the  piece,  but  then  it  would  have  had  no 
effect:  Savari,  upon  his  guard  since  his  arrest,  and  dis- 
trusting everybody  and  everything,  would  have  taken  the 
dagger  unconcernedly,  examined  it,  and  returned  it  tran- 
quilly to  its  owner.  Vibert  had  allowed  several  months 
to  slip  by;  by  intelligence  and  stratagem  he  had  inspired 
Savari  with  entire  confidence  in  him;  by  kind  acts  and 
words  he  had  softened  him,  and  by  the  serious  love 
which  he  had  caused  him  to  feel,  he  was  able  to  control 
his  strong  nature. 

Then  see  how  well  he  chose  the  place  for  his  scene: 
the  Cafe  Anglais.  Was  it  not  at  the  Cafe  Anglais  that 
Savari  dined  an  hour  before  Maurice  Vidal's  assassination? 
If  he  were  the  one  who  committed  the  murder,  would  he 
not  be  somewhat  troubled  at  being  in  the  place  where 
he  had  doubtless  meditated  and  prepared  his  crime? 

Then  how  propitious  was  the  moment  for  the  decisive 
experiment!  Savari  had  seen  Fedora  during  the  day;  for 
the  first  time,  he  had  spoken  to  her  of  his  love  and  opened 
his  heart.  His  nervous  system  was  excited,  his  self-con- 
trol less  great,  and  he  was  in  one  of  those  physical  and 
mental  conditions  when  a  man  is  easily  influenced  and 
impressed. 

At  half-past  six  Vibert  entered  the  Caf6  Anglais.  He 
was  immediately  ushered  into  the  cabinet  he  had  engaged 
the  day  before. 

While  waiting  for  his  guests  he  made  some  important 
preparations.  He  placed  on  the  table  some  flowers  which 
he  had  bought  and  chosen  from  amoqg  those  which  were 


138     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

most  odorous.  Vibert,  who  had  studied  everything,  be- 
lieved in  the  effect  of  flowers  upon  the  nervous  system. 
He  also  ordered  his  wines  with  the  greatest  care;  he 
wished  them  to  be  heady,  but  not  too  exciting.  Finally, 
he  had  the  number  of  candles  doubled,  and  took  care 
above  all  that  the  place  which  Savari  was  to  occupy  should 
be  in  a  strong  light. 

At  seven  o'clock  Madame  Vidal,  Savari  and  Vibert  sat 
down  to  the  table.  The  conversation  languished  at  first;  it 
could  not  be  otherwise,  as  all  of  them  came  to  the  dinner 
with  serious  thoughts  in  their  minds.  But  Vibert  soon  be- 
came master  of  himself,  drove  away  all  thoughts  likely 
to  injure  the  important  object  he  had  in  view,  and  directed 
the  conversation  toward  whatever  subject  he  wished. 
During  the  first  course  it  was  light,  varied,  almost  gay; 
then  it  became  graver;  at  dessert  it  touched  upon  serious 
things,  moral  and  philosophical  subjects.  Vibert  sum- 
moned to  his  aid  his  recollections,  his  early  religious 
studies,  the  more  or  less  paradoxical  theories  advanced  by 

the  Marquis  de  X ,  and  all  the  knowledge  he  had 

acquired  in  the  office  of  the  commissary  of  police.  He 
developed  certain  novel  ideas  in  regard  to  the  organiza- 
tion of  prisons,  the  cellular  system  and  the  galley  system. 
From  things,  he  passed  to  individuals,  and  discussed  with 
Savari  many  celebrated  criminals,  whose  trials  had  inter- 
ested him.  He  spoke  of  his  desire  to  be  present  at  a  sitting 
of  the  court  of  assizes,  and  asked  if  some  interesting  case 
were  not  soon  to  come  off.  "  You  can  not  imagine,"  he 
said,  pleasantly,  "how  interested  I  have  always  been  in 
such  things.  I  have  read  most  of  the  celebrated  trials  of 
different  nations,  and  all  the  police  memoirs."  Then, 
addressing  himself  directly  to  Savari:  "  Do  you  know  why 
I  took  a  fancy  to  you  in  the  first  place?"  he  asked. 

*'  I  have  no  idea." 


m  THE  RITE  DE  LA  PAIX.  139 

"  It  is  absurd  and  ridiculous,  I  know,  and  you  will  be 
angry  with  me." 

"No,  indeed." 

"  Well,  your  name  was  familiar  to  me,  I  liked  to  pro- 
nounce it;  it  differs  only  in  orthography  from  one  of  our 
most  celebrated  ministers  of  police,  Rene  Savary,  Due 
de  Rovigo,  whose  interesting  memoirs  I  had  just  finished 
reading;  I  am  an  original  sort  of  fellow,  and  people  please 
me  for  little  things." 

"That  is  very  fortunate  for  me." 

"No,  no,  there  are  great  reasons  for  liking  you;  I  dis- 
covered them  later;  but  it  was  your  devil  of  a  name  which 
attracted  me  first." 

"It  has  never  rendered  me  a  greater  service,"  said 
Savari,  graciously. 

Vibert  bowed,  and  continued,  with  his  habitual  volu- 
bility: 

"The  police,  trials,  murders,  those  are  what  I  love!  I 
am  not  telling  you  anything  new,  however;  ever  since  I 
have  known  you,  I  have  asked  you  every  day  to  take  me 
to  see  your  prisons  and  your  Palais  de  Justice.  By  the 
way,  do  you  know,  I  concluded  not  to  wait  for  you,  and 
went  myself." 

"Where?" 

"Why,  to  the  Conciergerie,  Sainte-Chapelle  and  the 
Palais  de  Justice,  of  course!  I  could  not  wait  any 
longer,  and,  by  Jove!  I  satisfied  my  fancy  without  you, 
Monsieur." 

"Well,  what  did  you  see?" 

"  Everything,  absolutely  everything.  I  found  a  guide, 
who  pleased  me  very  much;  a  fine  fellow,  about  fifty 
years  old,  with  medals  all  over  his  breast.  Yes,  I  left  my 
carriage  on  the  quay,  and  I  was  gazing  in  wonder  at  the 
great  towers  of  the  Conciergerie,  when  my  man  perceived 


140     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

me  and  said  to  himself:  *  There  is  a  stranger,  an  imbecile, 
I  will  pilot  him  about  and  bleed  him  well! '  He  came  to 
me  and  offered  me  his  services.  I  accepted  eagerly,  and 
as  he  had  influence,  he  took  me  almost  everywhere.  I 
saw  all  the  places  of  interest,  the  hall  where  the  court  of 
assizes  sits,  the  criminal  court,  the  famous  tower  where 
Marie- Antoinette  was  imprisoned,  etc.;  it  is  very  curious, 
very  curious!  I  was  so  pleased  with  my  guide  that  I  did 
not  wish  to  part  from  him,  and  he,  on  his  side,  took  a  great 
fancy  to  me.     Ah!  I  owe  to  him  a  famous  acquisition!  " 

"A  famous  acquisition!"  repeated  Savari,  who,  with 
Madame  Vidal's  permission,  had  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  a  famous  acquisition,"  continued  Vibert; 
"you  shall  see  it  presently.  Still  accompanied  by  my 
guide,  I  mounted  a  staircase,  descended  again,  passed 
through  a  corridor,  and  went  all  over  the  Palais  de  Jus- 
tice. In  the  midst  of  this  interesting  excursion,  I  sud- 
denly came  upon  a  half-open  door.  *  Where  does  that 
door  lead  to?'  I  asked.  '  To  one  of  the  rooms  belonging 
to  the  record  05606.'  'Ah!  And  what  does  the  room 
contain?'  'Papers  and  documents  of  all  kinds,  and 
also  the  different  objects  which  figure  in  criminal  trials; 
the  weapon  used  by  the  accused,  the  hat  he  lost  in  his 
flight,  the  bloody  handkerchief  found  upon  him,  some- 
times the  garments  of  the  victim;  in  fact,  all  objects 
which  the  judges  or  the  jury  need  to  help  to  convict. 
During  the  trial,  according  as  they  are  needed,  these 
things  are  taken  into  court.'  '  But,'  I  asked,  eager  for 
information,  '  when  the  trial  is  over,  what  becomes  of  the 
different  objects  you  speak  of  ? '  '  Some,  on  an  order  of 
court,  are  returned  to  the  owner  or  his  family,  and 
others  are  sold.  You  can  imagine,  Monsieur,'  added  my 
guide,  'that  the  whole  Palais  de  Justice  would  not  be 
large  enough  to  contain  all   these  articles  which  would 


IN  THE  BUE  DE  LA  PALX.  141 

accumulate  during  the  course  of  years.'  '  And  when  do 
the  sales  of  which  you  speak  take  place?'  I  asked,  with 
interest.  '  At  certain  times  fixed  in  advance.  There  is 
one  going  on  at  this  moment.'  '  Where?  '  '  Quite  near 
here.'  '  By  Jove! '  I  cried,  'but  I  should  like  to  see  it. 
I  might  be  able  to  buy  something  which  belonged  to  a 
great  criminal.'  '  Nothing  easier,  Monsieur,  if  you  will 
follow  me.'  I  did  not  wait  for  him  to  repeat  it,  but 
followed  my  guide,  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward,  I 
was  the  possessor  of  a  very  curious  object  indeed." 

"A  stolen  jewel?"  asked  Savari,  with  a  puff  at  his 
cigarette. 

"Oh!  better  than  that." 

"  Some  garment  which  belonged  to  some  poor  wretch 
sent  to  the  galleys  or  the  scaffold?" 

"  No!  no!  I  adore  curiosities,  but  I  desire  to  make 
some  use  of  them  at  the  same  time.  An  Englishman 
cares  nothing  for  that;  he  gives  rolls  of  bank  notes  for  an 
old  butt  of  a  cigar  which  has  been  pressed  by  illustrious 
lips.  But  I  am  not  English,  and  1  like  to  mingle  the 
useful  with  the  agreeable,  utile  dulci,  as  the  poet  says. 
Just  look  at  this!  " 

And  suddenly,  without  further  preparation,  he  extended 
to  Savari  the  knife  which  he  had  held  concealed  under 
the  table,  and  which  he  had  opened  an  instant  before 
without  being  perceived. 

Fedora,  pale  and  trembling,  watched  for  the  result. 

Vibert  had  risen,  as  he  produced  the  knife.  "With 
both  hands  resting  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  he  was  also 
observing  Savari  through  his  blue  eyeglasses;  but  he  was 
watching  him  coolly,  ready  to  seize  the  slightest  change 
in  his  adversary's  face.  He  forbade  his  heart  to  beat,  and 
it  obeyed  him. 

The  servants  had  finished  their  duties  and  retired. 


142  FED  OKA:   OE,  THE  TEAGEDY 

Nothing  was  heard  but  the  heavy  rumble  of  the  car- 
riages on  the  Boulevard. 

At  last,  perhaps,  the  truth  would  be  known! 

If  Savari  were  the  murderer,  it  appeared  impossible  in 
the  state  he  was  in,  carefully  prepared,  as  he  had  been, 
that  he  should  not  betray  himself  by  some  gesture,  cry  or 
start,  at  sight  of  the  weapon  which  would  recall  to  him 
his  crime  in  the  most  vivid  manner. 

Savari  manifested  at  first  a  certain  repugnance  to  take 
the  knife  held  out  to  him.  But,  after  having  carefully 
examined  it,  he  laid  it  down  on  the  table,  saying: 

"I  would  not  advise  you,  if  you  were  attacked,  to  make 
use  of  that  weapon ;  it  is  in  a  very  bad  condition." 

Vibert  was  confounded. 

All  his  calculations  were  at  fault,  all  his  plans  over- 
thrown. For  three  months  he  had  been  losing  time  and 
working  for  nothing;  he  was  on  a  false  trail.  It  was 
enough  to  drive  him  to  despair. 

As  he  made  these  reflections,  he  happened  to  wonder 
what  were  Fedora's  impressions.  He  turned  to  look  at 
her,  as  Savari,  without  troubling  himself  more  about  the 
knife  on  the  table,  rose  and  lit  a  second  cigarette  at  one 
of  the  candelabra  placed  upon  the  piano. 

Fedora  had  not  changed  her  attitude,  but  she  was  less 
pale,  and  a  sort  of  sad  smile  played  about  her  lips.  One 
would  have  said  that  she  was  indifferent  to  the  bad  result 
obtained.  This  was  too  much  for  the  irascible  Vibert. 
What!  while  he  was  in  despair,  his  companion,  his  accom- 
plice, who  was  even  more  interested  than  he  in  the  success 
of  the  experiment,  did  not  share  his  feelings!  He  was 
conquered,  and,  instead  of  pitying  him,  she  looked  as  if 
she  almost  rejoiced  at  his  defeat.  Such  injustice  revolted 
him;  but,  instead  of  overwhelming  him,  it  inspired  him 
suddenly  with  a  desire  for  revenge. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  143 

"  The  game  is  not  yet  lost,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  the 
experiment  is  not  yet  complete.  It  is  possible  that,  in  a 
moment  of  fury  and  exasperation,  a  murderer  uses  the 
first  weapon  at  his  hand,  without  even  noticing  it,  and 
that  the  sight  of  it,  therefore,  recalls  to  him  no  memory. 
I  will  complete  the  experiment." 

He  joined  Savari,  chatted  with  him  for  a  minute  or  two 
on  indifferent  subjects,  took  his  arm,  made  a  few  turns 
about  the  room,  and  led  him  gradually  up  to  the  table,  to 
the  same  places  they  had  formerly  occupied. 

"  So,"  he  said  then,  sitting  down  and  pointing  to  the 
knife  on  the  table,  "  you  don't  think  that  weapon  I  was  so 
delighted  at  having  purchased,  is  good  for  anything?" 

"I  do  not  think  so;  the  point  is  blunted;  look  at  it 
yourself,"  responded  Savari. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Vibert,  appearing  to  examine  it  atten- 
tively. "That  is  easily  explained,  though,"  he  added; 
"  when  it  penetrated  the  victim's  body,  it  must  have  en- 
countered— " 

"  What!  "  asked  Savari,  quickly,  "  was  some  one  really 
struck  with  that  weapon?" 

"  Yes,  and  the  blow  was  fatal,"  replied  Vibert. 

"Who  told  you  so?" 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  do  you  think  that  I  buy  things 
of  that  sort  without  inquiring  into  their  origin?  That 
knife  is  historical,  and  I  know  every  detail  of  its  history. 
It  was  the  property  of  a  young  man,  who  was  killed  last 
October,  at  No.  6  Rue  de  la  Paix." 

Savari  made  a  quick  movement. 

Vibert  continued: 

"  This  young  man  was  called —  Wait!  th«  name  will 
come  to  me — he  was  called — " 

"  Maurice  Vidal,"  said  Savari. 

It  was  Vibert's  turn  now  to  make  a  gesture  of  surprise. 


144  FEDORA  :    OK,   THE   TRAGEDY 

"You  know  about  the  affair? "  he  asked. 

"  I  was  directly  mixed  up  in  it,"  replied  Savari. 

"In  what  way?" 

"  I  was  accused  of  being  the  assassin  of  Maurice  Vidal." 

"You?" 

"  Yes,  I.  So,  when  you  spoke  to  me  suddenly  of  that 
crime,  my  emotion  was  extreme.  I  have  not  gotten  over 
it  yet;  I  must  be  as  pale  as  death.  Please  hand  me  that 
pitcher." 

Vibert  obeyed. 

Savari  took  a  swallow  of  water,  and  continued: 

"  If  you  knew  how  much  I  have  suffered  from  that 
affair!     Imagine!  I  was  arrested  and  dragged  to  prison." 

"  It  isn't  possible! "  cried  Vibert. 

"  Alas!  it  is  only  too  true.  I  appeared  before  a  magis- 
trate, I  was  handcuffed  and  placed  in  close  confinement. 
That  is  the  way  of  the  police  in  France.  Yes,  it  is  in  vain 
for  you  to  be  calm,  not  to  defend  yourself,  to  go  where 
you  are  ordered  to  go,  they  handcuff  you  all  the  same;  it 
is  a  measure  of  prudence." 

He  continued,  turning  toward  Fedora: 

"Excuse  my  emotion,  Madame;  I  acknowledge  that  it 
is  in  bad  taste  at  the  dinner  table  and  before  a  woman, 
but  when  I  think  of  all  I  suffered,  I  am  not  master  of 
myself." 

"  If  I  could  have  suspected,"  began  Vibert,  "  believe 
me,  my  dear  Monsieur — " 

He  stopped  in  the  midst  of  his  excuses,  and  said  in  a 
most  natural  tone: 

"  Do  you  care  to  tell  us  how  you  got  out  of  all 
this?" 

"  By  proving  in  the  clearest  possible  manner,"  an- 
swered Savari,  "  that  I  was  not  guilty." 

"  But  how  did  the  magistrate  happen  to  suspect  you  t " 


«      Vlj 


livvfri/i!'|!ill!ln 


IN   THE   RUE   DE  LA   PAIX.  145 

"Why,  simply  because  I  had  some  business  with 
Maurice  Vidal  two  days  before  his  death." 

"  Good  Heavens!  that  is  frightful ! "  exclaimed  Vibert. 
"  Why,  then,  if  you  should  be  assassinated  to-night,  I 
might  be  suspected  of  the  crime,  because  I  passed  the 
evening  with  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  If  the  real  murderer  were  not  discovered, 
you  would  run  the  chance  of  being  arrested.  I  advise 
you  to  take  care,"  said  Savari,  less  pale  than  he  was. 

"Justice  is  very  queer,"  remarked  the  agent  of  police. 

"Not  as  much  so  as  you  think;  it  does  its  duty,  after 
all,  and  you  see  it  does  not  delay  to  release  those  who  are 
innocent.  But,  all  the  same,  I  suffered  much,  and  you 
have  this  evening  reopened  a  wound  by  no  means  healed 
yet." 

He  spoke  these  words  calmly  and  quietly,  with  a  sort 
of  sad  melancholy.  Suddenly  he  laid  his  hand  on  the 
table,  seized  the  knife  he  had  placed  there,  and  after 
looking  at  it  for  some  time  in  silence: 

"It  was  with  this,  then,  that  you  were  killed,  poor 
Maurice  Vidal  !  "  he  said.  "  You  were  not  my  friend,  I 
had  even  quarreled  with  you.  Yes,  you,  the  thoroughly 
upright  man,  the  man  successful  through  labor,  energy 
and  honesty,  could  not  understand  certain  difficulties  of 
my  life,  a  certain  moral  and  material  impossibility  of  my 
being  what  you  were.  You  showed  yourself  severe, 
harsh,  unjust,  perhaps,  toward  me.  Ah  !  I  am  not  angry 
with  you,  Maurice  Vidal;  I  pity  you  with  all  my  heart. 
You  had  youth,  wealth,  strength,  and  one  blow  from 
this  wretched  weapon  was  sufficient  to  deprive  you  of 
all  ! " 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  continued,  as  if  oblivious 
of  Fedora's  and  Vibert's  presence: 

"Ah!  if  the  man  who  struck  you  had  known  certain 
10 


146       FEDORA:  OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

details  of  your  life,  as  I  have  known  them  since  that  de- 
plorable affair;  if  he  had  known  that  you  loved,  and  were 
loved,  that  you  were  expecting  the  next  day  your  dear 
wife,  perhaps  his  hand  would  have  trembled,  and  the 
blow  would  never  have  been  struck  !  Poor  fellow !  Poor 
woman  ! " 

Savari  ceased,  and  two  great  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheeks. 

At  the  same  moment,  Fedora,  who  up  to  this  moment 
had  been  able  to  keep  her  self-control,  overpowered  by 
Savari's  last  words,  burst  into  a  passion  of  sobs. 

Vibert's  first  impulse  was  to  hasten  to  her  side,  but  it 
occurred  to  him  at  once  that  this  sudden  outburst  must 
be  explained,  and  turning  to* Savari,  he  said: 

"  It  was  our  fault,  we  were  too  melodramatic.  For  an 
hour  past  we  have  talked  of  nothing  but  murder  and 
assassination,  and  she  is  nervous.  By  Jove !  it  was 
enough  to  make  her  so." 

Savari  did  not  answer,  but  regarded  Fedora  in  silence 
and  without  approaching  her. 

"  Come  !  "  continued  Vibert,  desirous  to  put  an  end 
to  this  scene,  "  what  we  had  better  do  now  is  to  separate 
and  promise  to  be  more  cheerful  in  the  future." 

He  rang  the  bell,  ordered  a  carriage,  and,  taking  leave 
of  Savari,  conducted  Madame  Vidal  home. 

In  Fedora's  condition  Vibert  did  not  wish  to  have  any 
explanation  with  her.  He  left  her  to  Marietta's  care, 
and  retired. 

What  explanation,  besides,  could  he  have  had? 

What  new  proof  did  he  possess  of  Savari's  guilt?  He 
had  hoped  to  produce  a  great  effect;  the  effect  had 
been  produced  and  had  surpassed  his  hopes:  Savari  had 
not  only  turned  pale  and  trembled,  he  had  wept,  he  had 
given  all  the  signs  of  the  strongest  and  deepest  emotion. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  147 

But  this  emotion  could  be  easily  explained,  and  Vibert 
was  taken  in  his  own  trap.  He  had  arranged  all  the  de- 
tails of  the  scene,  developed  to  the  fullest  extent  his 
adversary's  sensitiveness,  and  done  all  he  could  to  render 
him  disposed  to  sentiment.  What  more  natural,  there- 
fore, than  that  Savari  had  been  affected  by  the  memory 
of  an  affair  with  which  he  had  been  so  intimately  con- 
nected, and  from  which  he  had  so  cruelly  suffered?  His 
pallor,  his  tears,  his  emotion,  were  no  signs  of  his  guilt; 
they  showed  only  that  the  suspicions  against  him,  his 
arrest  and  imprisonment,  had  left  a  deep  wound  in  his 
heart.  In  trying  to  confound  Savari,  Vibert  had,  on  the 
contrary,  given  him  an  opportunity  of  showing  himself  in 
a  more  favorable  light.  This  man,  whom  they  had  hitherto 
thought  to  be  volatile,  selfish,  incapable,  perhaps,  of 
any  fine  sentiment,  had  suddenly  appeared  serious,  gen- 
erous and  thoughtful.  He  had  been  touched  at  the 
memory  of  Maurice  Vidal's  death,  he  had  eulogized  the 
man  who  had  been  his  enemy,  he  had  paid  a  tribute  to 
his  memory  and  mingled  his  tears  with  those  of  Fedora 
Vidal. 

As  he  made  these  different  reflections,  which  were  by 
no  means  pleasant  ones,  Vibert  wended  his  way  on  foot 
toward  his  old  home  in  the  Rue  de  l'Arbre-Sec,  which  he 
had  taken  care  not  to  give  up.  He  was  not  sorry  to  be- 
come again,  for  a  short  time,  his  former  self,  to  throw 
aside  the  garments  of  the  Count  de  Rubini,  which  had 
profited  him  so  little,  to  refresh  himself  with  the  memory 
of  a  life,  which,  if  not  a  gay  one,  had  been  at  least  peace- 
ful and  tranquil. 

"  Ah  !  M.  Vibert ! "  said  the  concierge,  recognizing 
him.    "  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  seen  you." 

"  I  have  been  in  the  country,"  said  the  agent  of  police. 
"Has  any  one  called  during  my  absence?  " 


148     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  No,  Monsieur;  but  here  is  a  letter  for  you." 

Vibert  took  the  letter,  which  bore  the  stamp  of  the 

commissary  of  police  of  the  first  arrondissement,  section 

of  the  Tuileries,  and  read  as  follows  : 

My  Dear  Vibert:  When  you  were  employed  in  my 
office,  you  issued  a  warrant,  during  my  absence,  for  the 
arrest  of  a  man  named  Langlade,  and  a  girl  with  red 
hair,  known  as  Soleil-Couchant.  They  wish  at  the  Pre- 
fecture information  in  regard  to  these  two  individuals, 
which  you  alone  can  give,  and  I  would  be  obliged  to  you 
if  you  would  come  to  my  office  as  soon  as  possible  and 
help  me  to  draw  up  the  required  report.  Y — . 

"  I  will  go  to-morrow  morning,  before  returning  to  the 
Hotel  des  Princes,"  murmured  Vibert,  placing  the  letter 
in  lus  pocket,  and  ascending  the  stairs  to  his  room. 


IN  THE  BUE  DE  LA  PAIX  149 


PAET     II. 


Vibert  passed  the  night  of  the  dinner  at  the  Cafe 
Anglais  in  his  room  in  the  Rue  de  l'Arbre-Sec,  and  the 
next  morning,  after  giving  to  the  commissary  of  police  of 
the  Tuileries  the  information  demanded  in  rearard  to 
Langlade  and  Soleil-Couchant,  he  returned  to  his  apart- 
ments in  the  Hotel  des  Princes. 

He  had,  however,  been  almost  on  the  point  of  giving 
up  the  struggle;  of  writing  to  the  examining  magistrate 
that  Savari  was  certainly  innocent  or  too  clever  to  fur- 
nish any  proof  of  his  guilt;  of  making  his  last  visit  to 
Madame  Vidal  and  expressing  to  her  his  regrets  at  not 
being  able  to  serve  her  better;  finally,  of  resigning  his 
position  entirely. 

Restrained  by  an  unwillingness  to  confess  himself 
beaten  or  perhaps  by  a  sentiment  of  quite  another  nature, 
he  did  not  put  these  ideas  into  execution,  but  decided  to 
continue,  for  some  time  longer,  his  role  of  the  Count  de 
Rubini,  which  he  had  so  marvelously  created.  But 
he  did  not  play  it  with  the  same  perfection;  he  was,  so 
to  speak,  only  the  double  of  that  personage.  He  neg- 
lected his  dress,  formerly  so  orderly;  he  forgot,  in  speak- 
ing, that  he  was  an  Italian,  and  appeared  astonished  when 
the  hotel  people  addressed  him  as  "Count."  At  the 
same  time  his  temper  became  unequal,  hasty,  passionate. 


150  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

He  seemed  to  be  dominated  by  one  fixed  idea,  which 
would  be  betrayed,  when  he  was  alone,  by  absurd  excla- 
mations and  soliloquies,  something  of  this  kind: 

"  You  fool !  you  wished  to  leave  your  quiet  office  in 
the  Rue  St.  Honore;  you  wished  to  live  !  Well,  you  do 
live!  What  do  you  complain  of?  To  suffer  is  to  live  ! 
to  live  is  to  suffer  !  You  live  then,  for  you  certainly 
suffer  enough  1  " 

Then  he  would  suddenly  stop,  and  striking  his  forehead, 
exclaim  : 

"  It  is  a  good  thing,  I  tell  you  it  is  a  good  thing;  it 
will  teach  you  a  lesson!  Instead  of  remaining  quietly 
in  the  rut  of  your  daily  life,  you  wished  to  have  your 
little  pleasures  like  the  rest  of  the  world;  you  have 
allowed  your  heart  to  beat,  and  it  has  taken  advantage 
of  your  permission  and  beats.  But  to  make  up  for  lost 
time,  it  beats  so  hard  that  it  may  possibly  break.  Break! 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  Suppose  it  does  break  !  Then,  no  more 
anger,  no  more  jealousy,  no  more  suffering!  Six  feet  of 
earth,  a  mound,  a  cross  of  wood,  perhaps,  given  by  the 

Marquis  de  X ,  and  all  would  be  ended.     But  no!  no! 

I  do  not  wish  to  die;  it  is  too  absurd  to  die  for  such  a 
cause.  I  !  Vibert  !  to  die  because —  Come!  come!  it 
is  ridiculous!  Ah!  how  the  Marquis  would  laugh!  On 
the  contrary,  I  wish  to  live,  to  live  well,  and  indulge  in 
all  kinds  of  follies.  I  shall  live  in  one  year  so  as  to 
make  up  for  all  the  time  I  have  been  idle  !  " 

Then  he  would  pause  again,  and  continue  this  time 
more  calmly,  and  with  a  sort  of  bitter  sadness: 

"  Pshaw!  I  am  boasting;  I  could  not  live  like  that.  A 
man  does  not  change  thus  his  habits  in  a  day.  One  does 
not  burn  at  thirty-five  for  pleasures  he  has  never  tasted. 
Then,  there  are  memories  which  can  not  be  effaced, 
thoughts  which  can  not  be  chased  away,  faces  which  other 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  151 

faces  can  not  replace.  Ah!  if  I  had  a  son,  how  I  would 
launch  him  at  eighteen  into  the  whirlpool  of  the  world 
and  its  pleasures.  '  Go,'  I  would  say  to  him, '  love,  enjoy, 
suffer,  expend  your  strength,  take  your  heart  in  both  hands 
and  toss  it  to  whoever  will  have  it.  You  will  render  it 
invulnerable  and  insensible,  and  when  you  reach  the  age 
of  strong  passions,  my  age,  you  will  laugh  instead  of  cry- 
ing, you  will  make  others  suffer  instead  of  suffering  your- 
self! '  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Make  others  suffer,  do  you  say?  Ah! 
Vibert,  my  friend,  you  are  a  fool.  Your  son  would  doubt- 
less resemble  you,  and  no  one,  framed  after  your  image, 
could  make  others  suffer.  Look  at  yourself !  There  is  a 
glass;  be  courageous  enough  to  contemplate  your  hand- 
some image.  With  such  a  face  and  figure  as  that,  one 
suffers,  but  does  not  cause  suffering.  Turn  away  your 
head  quickly,  my  good  fellow,  for  fear  of  disgusting 
yourself!  Bah!  what  am  I  doing  here?  Why  am  I  not 
attending  to  my  business?  I  am  an  employe1  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, after  all,  I  take  its  money,  1  have  a  duty  to 
perform,  and  I  am  not  performing  it.  I  have  declared  I 
would  answer  for  success.  Well!  where  is  that  success? 
I  have  stopped  half-way,  before  the  game  was  really  lost. 
The  devil!  it  is  not  lost,  it  is  not  lost,  I  say,  and  I  will 
pick  up  the  cards  again !  " 

Then  he  would  start  out  and  hasten  to  the  Rue  de 
Grammont.  But,  when  he  arrived  before  a  certain  door, 
he  would  stop,  and  commence  his  eternal  soliloquy  again: 

"  What  is  the  use  of  going  in?  What  shall  I  learn  up 
there?  He  is  with  her,  I  know  that!  What  can  I  do 
there?  I  must  wait  now,  wait  silently  and  without  show- 
ing myself,  without  disturbing  them.  It  is  the  only  means 
remaining  to  me  to  know  the  truth,  and  it  is  a  very  slen- 
der one.     It  is  terrible  to  be  forced  to  rely  upon  it." 

One  day,  however,  Vibert  did  not  stop  at  Fedora's  door, 


152     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

but  passed  rapidly  by  the  concierge,  mounted  the  back 
staircase,  and  did  not  appear  till  an  hour  afterward.  But 
he  was  not  ushered  into  Madame  Vidal's  salon;  Marietta 
did  not  hear  him  ring;  no  one  suspected  his  presence  in 
the  house.     What  had  become  of  him  during  that  time? 

He  probably  had  learned  nothing  satisfactory;  his  mys- 
terious expedition  had  doubtless  caused  him  the  greatest 
discouragement,  inspired  him  with  a  profound  disgust  for 
life,  for,  the  day  after  his  visit  to  the  Rue  de  Grammont, 
he  committed  one  of  those  terribly  imprudent  acts  which 
almost  always  hide  an  unacknowledged  idea  of  suicide. 

Summoned  to  the  Prefecture  to  give  some  details  in 
regard  to  the  matter  intrusted  to  him,  he  was  introduced 
into  the  office  of  the  chief  of  police.  When  he  entered, 
the  following  dialogue  was  taking  place  between  the  chief 
and  one  of  his  subordinates: 

"  So,  you  have  faith  in  the  information  given  by  this 
woman?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur;  she  has  every  reason  to  speak  the 
truth." 

"  According  to  her,  Langlade  will  sleep  to-night  in  the 
Rue  Croix-des-Petits-Champs?" 

"  It  is  more  than  probable." 

"  Nothing  prevents  you,  then,  from  arresting  him  to- 
morrow morning?" 

"No,  Monsieur;  none  of  my  men  would  hesitate  to 
follow  me,  but  I  must  warn  you  that  their  lives  would  be 
in  great  danger.  This  Langlade  has  a  terrible  reputation. 
He  has  already  escaped  twice  from  the  galleys  of  Toulon 
and  Brest.  He  is  endowed  with  gigantic  strength,  and 
never  sleeps  without  loaded  pistols  close  at  hand.  The 
first  man  who  enters  his  room  is  sure  to  be  killed." 

"Bah!  not  if  he  knows  how  to  act,"  suddenly  said 
Vibert,  who  had  remained  near  the  door. 


IN  THE  RUE  BE  LA  PALS.  153 

The  chief  and  the  inspector  turned  in  astonishment. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  you  try  it,"  said  the  inspector. 

"That  is  easy  enough  done;  you  have  only  to  follow 
me,  if  I  am  authorized  to  go  to-morrow  morning  to  the 
Rue  Croix-des-Petits-Champs." 

"Who  are  you,  then?"  asked  the  chief,  regarding  the 
agent  of  police  more  closely. 

"My  name  is  Vibert,  Monsieur;  you  have  sent  for  me 
in  regard  to  the  murder  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix." 

"  Ah  !  very  well !  We  have  not  heard  from  you  for 
some  time.     What  have  you  to  tell  us?  " 

"Nothing  new,  Monsieur;  I  am  still  waiting,  and  very 
impatiently,  I  can  assure  you." 

"  All  right.  We  know  your  zeal  and  count  upon  you. 
But  to  return  to  this  Langlade.  You  offer  to  undertake 
his  arrest?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  But,"  cried  the  inspector,  "  you  do  not  know  what  a 
man  he  is!" 

"That  is  where  you  are  mistaken,"  replied  Vibert; 
"  Langlade  has  already  passed  through  my  hands,  when  I 
was  secretary  of  the  commissary  of  police  in  the  Rue  St. 
Honore.  He  did  not  fear  to  come  one  morning,  accom- 
panied by  his  mistress,  and  ask  me  for  a  passport  to 
England;  his  appearance  struck  me  as  suspicious,  so  I 
had  him  followed  and  arrested.  Since  then,  he  has 
escaped  from  the  galleys,  where,  thanks  to  me,  he  was 
sent." 

"  Since  you  know  him  so  well,  I  am  surprised  that  the 
thought  of  encountering  him  does  not  alarm  you  more. 
You  remember,  doubtless,  his  gigantic  figure?" 

"  Perfectly.  I  am  a  dwarf  beside  many  people,  and 
especially  beside  him;  but  I  remember  also  the  victory 
won  by  David  over  Goliath." 


154  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"  Do  you  dream  of  meeting  him  in  single  combat?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  Do  you  pretend  you  can  arrest  him  alone?" 

"Certainly." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  die,  then?  "  cried  the  inspector. 

"  That  is  no  affair  of  yours,"  responded  Vibert.  "  There 
is  a  difficult  task  to  be  performed.  No  one  is  anxious  to 
attempt  it.  I  charge  myself  with  it  and  ask  no  recom- 
pense or  aid  of  any  description.  Permit  me,  Monsieur," 
he  added,  addressing  directly  the  chief,  "  to  say  to  you 
that  it  would  be  a  mistake,  perhaps,  to  refuse  such  dis- 
interested services." 

"  But  I  don't  refuse  them,  and  I  will  send  you  at 
once  to  the  persons  who  can  give  you  all  the  details  you 
need.  One  observation,  however.  Are  you  not  afraid, 
that,  during  the  time  you  are  occupied  with  this  Lang- 
lade, you  will  be  obliged  to  neglect  the  other  important 
matter  confided  to  you?  " 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  Vibert,  "  two  hours  will  suffice  for 
me  to  arrest  your  colossus.  I  will  take  them  out  of  my 
sleep;  which  is  all  the  more  easy,  as  I  never  sleep." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  chief,  with  a  smile.  "  By  Jove! 
they  spoke  the  truth  when  they  told  me  you  were  a  queer 
agent  of  police." 

Vibert's  only  response  was  a  grave  bow. 


II. 

The  next  day,  about  half-past  five  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, Vibert  mounted  with  a  determined  step  the  staircase 
of  the  house  where  Langlade  was  to  have  passed  the 
night,  in  the  Rue  Croix-des-Petits-Champs.     After  having 


IN  THE  RtJE  DE  LA  PAIX.  155 

sought  in  vain  for  a  bell  at  the  door,  which  had  been 
pointed  out  to  him,  he  rapped  resolutely. 

"  Who  is  there?"  cried  a  voice  from  within. 

"A  policeman  who  has  come  to  arrest  you,"  replied 
Vibert. 

"  You  idiot ! "  answered  the  voice.  "  If  you  were  a 
policeman,  you  would  not  say  so;  they  take  more  pre- 
cautions than  that  before  grappling  with  me.  It  is  you, 
Crampin,  isn't  it?" 

"  Well,  yes;  let  me  in." 

"  It  is  devilish  hard  to  have  to  get  out  of  bed;  but,  for 
a  friend,  I  don't  mind  the  cold;  I  can  open  the  door  and 
come  back  again." 

Scarcely  were  the  bolts  drawn  and  the  key  turned  in 
the  lock,  when  Vibert,  who  had  kept  close  to  the  door, 
pushed  it  rapidly  open,  threw  himself  into  the  chamber, 
made  a  bound  toward  the  bed,  seized  the  cocked  pistol, 
which  was  lying  on  a  small  table  near  it,  and,  turning  to 
Langlade,  cried: 

"  If  you  make  a  step,  you  are  a  dead  man  !  " 

"  Thunder  and  lightning  !  "  vociferated  the  convict,  "  it 
is  a  policeman!" 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so,  idiot?  Come,  you  are  taken; 
give  yourself  up ! " 

"  Give  myself  up  ?  Never  !  "  cried  Langlade,  exas- 
perated, "  I  prefer  to  devour  you,  damn  you  !  You  have 
my  pistol,  but  I  have  a  tough  fist  and  teeth  which  cut 
like  steel." 

"Bah!"  responded  Vibert,  tranquilly;  "to  use  them, 
you  must  first  get  near  me,  and  if  you  advance  a  step,  I 
shall  stretch  you  on  the  ground." 

And  with  his  right  hand  raised,  the  pistol  on  a  range 
with  his  eye,  he  seated  himself  tranquilly  on  the  bed 
which  Langlade  had  quitted. 


156  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Four  steps  from  him,  the  convict  foamed  with  rage,  but 
did  not  dare  to  approach.  •  They  looked  at  each  other  a 
moment,  the  one  ready  to  make  a  spring,  the  other  ready 
to  fire. 

Vibert  spoke  first. 

"  Well  !  "  he  said,  in  a  jeering  tone,  "  you  have  given 
up  your  idea  of  devouring  me,  eh?  That  is  a  shame;  I 
would  like  an  original  death." 

"  You  must  be  a  determined  dog  to  dare  to  come  here," 
cried  Langlade,  becoming  more  master  of  himself,  and 
glancing  round  for  something  to  use  as  a  weapon. 

"  Bah  !  "  replied  Vibert,  "  you  are  thought  to  be  more 
terrible  than  you  really  are.  Come,  don't  move  about 
like  that,  or  you  will  force  me  to  send  a  bullet  through 
you  to  keep  you  in  your  place.  What  do  you  want? 
What  are  you  looking  for  ?  Your  slippers,  perhaps ; 
your  feet  must  be  cold.  Well,  here  they  are.  I  am  a 
good-natured  devil,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  catch  the 
rheumatism." 

And  still  upon  his  guard,  he  fished  out  with  his  left 
hand  a  pair  of  slippers  from  under  the  bed,  and  threw 
them  to  the  convict. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Langlade,  who  had  recovered  his  usual 
assurance. 

"  Don't  mention  it.  Would  you  like  to  have  your 
trousers  also,  and  your  coat  and  vest?  Don't  fear  to 
trouble  me,  you  know;  they  are  right  here." 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  responded  the  convict,  rather 
astonished. 

The  coat,  vest  and  trousers,  sent  in  the  same  manner 
and  with  the  same  precautions,  followed  the  slippers. 

"  Would  it  be  indiscreet  for  me  to  ask  what  you  intend 
to  do  when  you  are  dressed?"  asked  Vibert,  as  Langlade 
hastily  arrayed  himself  in  his  garments. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  157 

"I  don't  know  just  yet;  I  am  thinking,  and  I  have  not 
fully  decided.  I  think  that  I  should  jump  upon  you,  if 
you  did  not  have  that  devilish  pistol." 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  it?  " 

"  Of  course  I  would,  but — " 

"  But  you  fear  that  I  prefer  to  keep  it.  Well,  I  don't 
know  about  that.  Tell  me,  if  I  should  give  it  up  to  you, 
what  would  you  do?  " 

"  Damn  it !  I  should  kill  you  !  A  fine  question  !  " 
responded  the  convict,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"Are  you  quite  sure?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"With  one  bullet?" 

"With  one  bullet." 

"  Well,  be  comforted,  my  friend.     Here  is  your  pistol." 

Vibert  rose,  walked  up  to  Langlade,  gave  him  the 
pistol,  turned  his  back  and  went  and  sat  down  again 
quietly  on  the  bed.     Then  he  folded  his  arms  and  said: 

"I  am  waiting." 

"  Why,  you  are  not  a  policeman  !  "  cried  the  convict, 
utterly  nonplussed. 

"You  are  very  ungrateful,"  responded  Vibert;  "I  am 
good  to  you,  I  treat  you  most  kindly,  and  you  refuse  to 
believe  me." 

"  You  are  really  a  policeman?  " 

"Good  Heavens!  what  do  you  think  T  am?  A  peer 
of  France,  perhaps?  Thank  Heaven,  no  !  They  don't 
enjoy  themselves  much;  I  know  one  who  does  nothing 
but  twirl  his  fingers  all  day  long.  I  am  really  a  police- 
man. See  here  !  I  have  in  my  pocket  the  principal 
attributes  of  my  profession,  handcuffs.  They  were  ail  I 
took  with  me  when  I  came  to  see  you;  I  even  left  my 
sword-cane  at  home." 

"  You  are  a  brave  man  I " 


158  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"  You  repeat  yourself,  my  dear  Langlade,"  said  Vibert, 
turning  about  on  the  bed,  "  you  have  already  made  that 
remark." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  I  am  going  to  allow  you  to 
put  those  handcuffs  on  me?"  demanded  the  convict. 

"  You  are  either  going  to  allow  me  to  do  so  or  you  are 
going  to  kill  me,"  responded  Vibert.  "  Between  our- 
selves, you  can  choose;  it  is  perfectly  immaterial  to  me. 
Only,  you  must  take  your  choice!  " 

"You  don't  care  for  your  life,  then?" 

"What  an  absurd  question!  Should  I  have  come  to 
wake  you  up  this  morning  if  I  had  cared  for  my  life  ?  By 
the  way,  are  you  fond  of  yours?" 

"Yes,  just  now.     Some  one  loves  me." 

"  Oh!  really?     You  are  lucky." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  convict,  proudly. 

Vibert  placed  his  blue  eyeglass  on  his  nose  and  scruti- 
nized his  companion  curiously. 

"  Your  father  and  mother  were  not  niggardly  when  they 
brought  you  into  the  world.  You're  a  tremendous  fellow, 
I  understand  why  women  adore  you;  they  have  such  bad 
taste." 

Then,  suddenly  turning  his  back  to  Langlade  and  chang- 
ing his  tone,  he  added: 

"  It  is  a  little  cold  here ;  you  have  forgotten  to  light 
your  fire.     Shall  we  go?    They  are  expecting  us." 

"Where?" 

"  At  the  Conciergerie.  You  will  be  better  off  in  that 
place  than  anywhere  else.  Besides,  you  will  be  close  at 
hand  for  your  examination  to-morrow.  You  can  be  sure, 
that  as  an  escaped  galley  slave,  you  will  be  well  taken 
care  of;  you  won't  have  to  mix  with  the  common  herd; 
you  shall  have  a  cell  to  yourself,  I  promise  you." 

"Oh!  you  do,  do  you?"  screamed  Langlade, 


IN   THE  HUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  159 

u  Don't  yell  like  that;  you  will  wake  up  the  neighbors, 
and  it  is  only  six  o'clock." 

"  The  noise  of  the  pistol  which  I  am  going  to  fire  at  your 
heart  will  wake  them  much  better." 

"Don't  bother  me!  You  are  always  threatening  and 
never  do  anything,  and  it  is  annoying,"  replied  the  agent 
of  police,  stretching  himself  out  at  full  length  upon  the 
convict's  bed. 

Langlade  made  a  spring  upon  the  couch,  and  placed 
the  pistol  against  Vibert's  breast. 

The  latter  murmured  a  name,  regarded  Langlade  fixedly, 
and  waited. 

Even  had  a  struggle  taken  place,  the  giant,  whose  anger 
doubled  his  strength,  could  easily  have  overcome  his  slen- 
der, weak  and  unarmed  opponent. 

Nearly  two  minutes  passed;  then  the  convict  lowered 
his  eyes,  let  his  pistol  fall,  and  recoiled,  murmuring: 

"  My  God!  I  do  not  dare  to  kill  him!  " 

"  Very  well,"  said  Vibert,  rising.  "  Then  I  must  con- 
tinue to  suffer." 

"You  are  unhappy,  then?"  asked  Langlade. 

"  So  unhappy  that  I  would  change  places  with  you  and 
go  to  the  galleys.  Ah!  if  you  had  carried  out  your  inten- 
tion, you  would  have  done  me  a  great  service.  But  I  did 
not  come  here  to  tell  you  my  sorrows.  This  time  nothing 
detains  us;  let  us  go." 

"You  can  go,  if  you  like;  I  shan't  kill  you.  But  I 
remain  here." 

"That  is  not  possible,  my  dear  Langlade,"  replied 
Vibert,  gradually  regaining  his  self-control.  I  have 
promised  to  take  you  away.  Come,  don't  let  us  have 
any  trouble;  you  are  a  good  fellow,  so  am  I;  let  us 
try  to  come  to  an  understanding,  and  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible.   You  have  a  mistress,  have  you  not,  a  red-haired 


160  FEDOKA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

girl,  called  Stephanie  Cornu,  and  nicknamed  Soleil- 
Couchant?" 

"  How  do  you  know  that?" 

"  Don't  we  police  know  everything?  It  is  our  business 
to  be  well  informed.  Moreover,  if  you  desire  details,  I 
will  tell  you,  for  I  can  refuse  you  nothing,  dear  boy,  that 
it  was  Soleil-Couchant  herself  who  told  us  where  to  find 
you." 

"  That  is  false! !  "  shrieked  Langlade. 

"  It  is  true,  I  tell  you.  If  it  were  not  true  I  should  not 
amuse  myself  by  causing  you  useless  pain.  I  respect 
affairs  of  the  heart,  and  I  consider  it  cowardly  to  tell  a 
man  that  his  mistress  has  betrayed  him  when  she  has  not 
done  so;  it  would  be  less  cruel  to  him  to  drive  a  knife 
through  his  heart." 

"Ah!  you  are  right,"  said  the  colossus,  whose  counte- 
nance had  entirely  changed.  "  Rather  than  learn  of  her 
treachery,  I  would  have  preferred  a  knife  through  my 
heart." 

"  You  are  not  alone  in  that,"  replied  Vibert,  with  a  deep 
sigh. 

All  at  once,  Langlade  rushed  upon  the  agent  of  police, 
and,  covering  him  with  his  pistol,  said: 

"  Will  you  swear  to  me  that  Soleil-Couchant  betrayed 
me?" 

"  I  swear  it,"  responded  Vibert,  without  a  movement. 

The  convict  looked  him  in  the  eyes,  and  then,  drawing 
away,  exclaimed: 

"  You  can  not  be  lying ;  you  are  too  brave !  " 

He  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  with  his  arms  hanging 
listlessly  down  by  his  side. 

"This  is  why  I  have  not  seen  her  for  two  days.  Ah! 
the  wretch!  And  how  I  loved  her!  She  was  the  only 
thing  I  loved  on  earth!  " 


P      !• 


IN  THE   RUE  DE   LA  PAIX.  161 

And  turning  to  Vibert  a  face  streaming  with  tears: 

41 1  give  myself  up,"  he  said,  "  put  on  the  handcuffs." 

"What  do  you  take  me  for?"  returned  the  agent  of 
police.  "Profit  by  your  weakness!  Never!  When  you 
are  calmer  we  shall  see." 

The  colossus  sobbed  like  a  child.  Vibert  walked  up 
and  down  the  room,  thinking: 

"He  is  fortunate  to  be  able  to  cry  like  that!  I  can 
not,  and  my  tears  are  burning  into  my  brain." 

After  a  minute  or  two  he  approached  Langlade  and 
laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Come!  come  with  me,  I  will  take  you  to  Soleil- 
Couchant." 

The  convict  started  up. 

"  You  know  where  she  is,  then?"  he  cried. 

"  She  has  been  in  prison  since  yesterday.  She  became 
alarmed,  lest  she  should  be  compromised  and  imprisoned 
for  the  rest  of  her  life,  and  she  betrayed  your  hiding-place 
to  gain  the  good  graces  of  the  authorities." 

"  Ah!     And  you  offer  to  take  me  to  her?  " 

"At  once." 

"But  I  shall  kill  her!" 

"That  is  your  lookout.  I  am  simply  charged  with 
arresting  you,  and  my  duties  are  ended  when  you  are 
lodged  in  jail.  If  it  pleases  you,  therefore,  to  kill  Soleil- 
Couchant,  I  shall  not  oppose  you;  one  woman  more  or 
less  in  the  world  is  no  great  matter." 

"  I  am  ready,  then.     Come !  "  cried  the  convict. 

"  Come  ! "  repeated  the  agent  of  police. 


11 


162  FEDOBA  :   OE,  THE  TEAGEDT 


III. 

Vibert,  accompanied  by  Langlade,  descended  the  stair- 
case. The  convict  did  not  seem  to  be  conscious  of  what 
he  was  doing;  plunged  in  reflection,  his  head  bent  on  his 
breast,  he  followed  the  agent  of  police  mechanically,  as 
a  dog  follows  his  master.  Soleil-Couchant  had  betrayed 
him!  What  mattered  anything  else  in  the  world  to 
him? 

However,  when  he  reached  the  sidewalk,  the  fresh  air 
striking  him  in  the  face  aroused  him.  He  looked  up  and 
down  the  street  and  said  to  Vibert: 

"  Well !  where  is  your  carriage?" 

"  What  carriage  ?  " 

"  The  one  containing  your  men." 

"I  have  no  men." 

"You  came  all  alone  to  arrest  me?" 

"  I  have  already  told  you  so;  I  did  not  need  a  squadron 
of  cavalry  to  back  me  up;  I  am  in  the  habit  of  conduct- 
ing my  business  myself,  and  I  find  it  answers  every  pur- 
pose. Does  it  annoy  you  not  to  find  before  your  door 
three  or  four  policemen,  buttoned  up  to  the  chin  and 
looking  like  undertaker's  men?  I  don't  go  out  into  the 
street  with  men  like  that;  I  have  some  pride.  But  if 
their  absence  chagrins  you,  I  can  send  for  them." 

"  No,  it  doesn't  matter." 

"Don't  hesitate,  you  know,"  said  Vibert;  "if  you 
desire  a  first-class  funeral,  I  vri\\  procure  it  for  you.  It 
won't  cost  you  any  more." 

"  No,  I  tell  you,  your  society  is  enough  for  me,"  replied 
the  convict,  who  was  in  no  state  to  appreciate  his  com- 
panion's jokes. 

"  You   are    very  kind,"  retorted  Vibert,  "  and  I  will 


IN  THE   RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  163 

return  your  politeness  by  ordering  a  carriage;  we  can  not 
go  on  foot." 

A  cab  was  passing,  Vibert  hailed  it,  and  pushing  Lang- 
lade by  the  shoulders,  said  to  him: 

"  Get  in  first;  don't  stand  upon  manners,  please." 

He  ordered  the  man  to  drive  to  the  Palais  de 
Justice,  and  seated  himself  beside  the  convict.  They 
kept  silence  for  some  moments,  each  being  absorbed  in 
his  own  affairs,  without  regard  to  his  neighbor.  Before 
long,  however,  Langlade,  whom  inaction  made  nervous, 
gave  a  kick  against  the  seat  opposite,  and  exclaimed: 

"  To  betray  me  so,  me,  who  have  done  so  much  for 
her! " 

This  speech  required  no  answer,  but  Vibert,  ever  well- 
bred,  thought  it  best  to  respond. 

"  My  dear  Langlade,"  he  said,  without  turning  his 
head,  "  notice,  I  beg,  that  she  could  not » have  betrayed 
you,  if  you  had  not  done  something  for  her;  she  could 
have  given  you  up  to  the  police,  but  that's  all.  For 
treachery  to  exist,  there  must  have  been  confidence;  do 
you  perceive  my  reasoning?  It  is  specious,  but  it  is 
just." 

Langlade  perceived  nothing,  and  continued: 

"  Did  I  let  her  want  for  anything?  Never!  She  had 
from  me  whatever  she  wished.  I  was  the  slave  of  her 
caprices.  She  would  say  to  me:  'I  wish  all  that  jewelry 
shop,'  and  the  following  night  I  would  strip  it.  One  day 
we  were  walking  in  the  Rue  Vivienne,  and  she  exclaimed: 
'  That  dress  would  be  very  becoming  to  me! '  That  very 
evening  it  was  in  her  room." 

"You  bought  it  for  her?"  asked  Vibert,  ironically. 

"  No,"  responded  the  convict,  proudly,  "  I  stole  it." 

"  That  is  an  excellent  way  of  having  a  mistress  without 
ruining  one's  self,"  thought  the  agent  of  police. 


164  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Langlade,  pursuing  his  line  of  thought,  continued: 

"Did  I  need  money  for  myself  ?  Pooh!  A  glass  of 
wine,  a  bit  of  bread  and  a  pallet  of  straw  were  enough 
for  me.  I  was  brought  up  in  the  country,  a,nd  I  have 
simple  tastes." 

"  That  is  easily  seen,"  thought  Vibert. 

"  It  was  for  her  sake  that  I  wanted  money  at  any  cost. 
It  was  to  procure  things  for  her  that  I  became  a  thief  and 
an  assassin." 

"  By  Jove!  "  reflected  the  agent  of  police,  "  take  any 
crime,  sift  it,  and  you  will  find  a  woman  at  the  bottom. 
The  idea  is  not  mine,  it  is  as  old  as  the  world.  Would 
Adam  have  gathered  the  apple  if  Eve  had  not  cov- 
eted it?" 

"  The  last  time  I  went  to  prison,"  proceeded  Langlade, 
"  was  because  of  her.  Did  I  reproach  her?  No.  And 
even  at  Brest  I  found  means  of  making  money  to  send  to 
her.  I  made  straw  baskets  and  carved  little  figures  of 
cocoanut.  But  that  was  not  enough;  one  day  she  wrote 
to  me  that  she  needed  a  hundred  francs.  A  hundred 
francs!  Where  could  I  get  them  in  prison?  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  rob  three  convict  guards  of  their  savings.  I 
was  condemned  to  the  chain  gang  for  a  month,  but  she 
had  her  hundred  francs." 

"  Men  are  not  just,"  remarked  Vibert;  "  to  rob  convicts 
deserved  a  reward." 

"  It  was  for  her  sake,"  exclaimed  Langlade,  "  that  I 
committed  all  my  crimes;  those  which  are  known  and 
those  which  are  not  known." 

At  this  the  agent  of  police  made  a  quick  movement. 
With  his  head  thrown  back  indolently  against  the  cush- 
ions of  the  carriage,  and  his  feet  stretched  out  on  the 
seat  opposite,  he  had  contented  himself  with  taking  but 
a  feeble  part  in  the  discourse.     The  convict  soliloquized 


FN"  THE  KITE  DE  LA  PAIX.  165 

on  the  right,  and  the  police  employe  on  the  left;  it  was  a 
very  innocent  way  of  passing  the  time.  But  these  last 
words,  "  the  crimes  which  are  known  and  those  which 
are  not  known,"  aroused  Vibert  from  his  lethargy.  The 
agent  of  police,  in  love  with  his  profession,  was  suddenly 
awakened.  The  evening  before,  these  words  might  per- 
haps have  been  pronounced  before  him  with  impunity. 
He  was  in  such  a  state  of  physical  and  mental  prostration, 
that  he  would  have  cared  nothing  for  them.  What  mat- 
tered to  him  then  the  police,  his  duty  and  the  crimes  of  a 
Langlade?  He  would  have  cared  nothing  for  this  convict; 
it  was  Savari,  Savari  alone,  he  wanted.  The  world  began 
and  ended  for  him  in  the  Rue  de  Grammont.  He  had 
only  offered  to  arrest  Langlade  to  take  his  mind  off  his 
sorrow.  And  he  had  succeeded;  the  expedition  he  had 
made,  the  danger  he  had  run,  his  vain  farewell  to  life,  his 
morning  ride  through  Paris,  side  by  side  with  a  redoubt- 
able malefactor,  had  in  a  great  measure  brought  him  to 
his  senses;  he  was  roused  to  life,  and  the  Count  de  Rubini 
disappeared  to  give  place  to  the  agent  of  police,  Vibert. 
There  were  in  Langlade's  existence  unknown  crimes;  it 
behooved  him  then  to  discover  them. 

"  By  the  way,  do  you  know  what  time  it  is?"  he  asked 
Langlade,  after  a  moment's  reflection. 

The  convict,  buried  in  reverie,  did  not  reply.  Vibert 
touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"What!  are  we  there?"  cried  Langlade,  starting  up  as 
if  suddenly  awakened. 

"  No,  not  yet.  I  have  disturbed  you  to  ask  if  you  knew 
what  time  it  was." 

"What  matters  the  time  to  me?" 

"  I  have  been  reflecting,"  continued  Vibert. 

«  Well?" 

"  It  is  much  too  early  to  see  Soleil-Couchant." 


106  FEDORA  •   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  the  convict,  threateningly,  "  you  are 
already  seeking  for  reasons  not  to  keep  your  word." 

"  How  ill-tempered  and  suspicious  you  are  !  "  replied 
Vibert,  tranquilly.  "At  my  slightest  observation  you 
fly  off  at  a  tangent  like  a  skyrocket.  What  I  have  the 
honor  to  tell  you  is  very  simple,  however;  I  can  not  go  to 
the  prison  and  say  to  the  warden:  '  Here  is  my  friend, 
M.  Langlade,  an  escaped  galley  slave.  He  desires  to  have 
a  moment's  interview  with  his  mistress,  Mademoiselle 
Soleil-Couchant,  who  is  at  present  residing  in  your  house. 
Would  you  have  the  kindness,  Monsieur,  to  ask  that  lady 
to  descend  to  the  salon,  or  to  conduct  M.  Langlade  to 
the  apartment  she  occupies?  '  The  warden  would  answer 
me  :  '  Monsieur,  M.  Langlade's  visit  honors  and  delights 
us,  all  the  more  as  we  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  keep- 
ing him  with  us  for  a  long  time.  But  we  can  not  disturb 
Mademoiselle  Soleil-Couchant;  for  your  protege  to  see 
her  an  order  of  court  is  necessary,  and  the  persons  who 
can  give  that  order  are  not  up  at  this  early  hour.'  That, 
my  dear  Langlade,  is  what  would  certainly  happen  on 
our  arrival.  You  have  intelligence,  and  you  must  see 
it  would  be  so." 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Langlade,  harshly,  and  totally  insensible 
to  the  pleasant  joking  of  the  agent  of  police. 

"Well,"  responded  Vibert, in  the  most  courteous  tone, 
"  I  simply  propose  to  kill  two  or  three  hours,  where  you 
like  and  as  you  like;  to  delay  our  visit  a  little,  that's  all. 
You  are  sure  of  me,  since  I  promise  not  to  quit  you.  At 
nine  o'clock  we  will  go  to  the  Prefecture,  I  will  have  a 
moment's  interview  with  the  chief  of  police  and  tell  him 
I  have  given  you  my  word,  and  that  he  must  help  me 
to  keep  it.  At  ten  o'clock,  at  the  latest,  you  shall  see 
Soleil-Couchant.     Does  that  satisfy  you?  " 

"  It  must,  I  suppose,"  growled  the  convict. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  167 

"  Good  !  you  are  reasonable,  as  I  expected  you  would 
be.  "We  have  now  only  to  decide  what  we  shall  do  with 
our  time.     Have  you  any  idea?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  would  you  say  to  a  nice  little  breakfast?" 

"  I  am  not  hungry,"  responded  Langlade. 

"  You  selfish  fellow  !  Perhaps  you  are  not  hungry. 
But  you  don't  think  of  me,  who  got  up  at  five  o'clock  to 
call  upon  you.  Then,  you  have  subjected  me  to  all  sorts 
of  excitement;  you  wished  to  kill  me,  then  you  did  not 
wish  to  kill  me;  I  said  to  myself  it  was  all  over,  and  slap! 
bang!  I  was  still  alive!  You  see,  all  that  has  broken  me 
up.  Come,  let  us  put  something  in  our  stomachs;  it  will 
enable  you  to  chat  all  the  more  eloquently  with  Soleil- 
Couchant." 

"  Oh  !  what  I  have  to  say  to  her  won't  take  long,"  ex- 
claimed the  convict. 

"Yes,  I  understand  you,  a  good  blow  is  quickly  given; 
there  is  no  need  of  the  eloquence  of  Demosthenes.  Still, 
if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  should  like  first  to  give  her  a 
piece  of  my  mind,  to  treat  her  as  she  deserves,  and  say  to 
her  all  that  I  have  in  my  heart." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  talk,  I  only  know  how  to  act." 

"  Believe  me,  you  could  talk  like  a  parson,  if  you  had 
only  a  good  beefsteak  and  a  bottle  of  Chablis  upon  your 
conscience." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  " 

"  Do  I  think  so?  Why,  every  time  that  I  have  an 
appointment  with  a  woman,  I  begin  by  eating  a  good 
breakfast.  Then  a  man's  brain  is  excited  and  aroused, 
and  he  acquits  himself  satisfactorily." 

"Yes,  it  is  possible,"  replied  the  convict;  "one  kills 
then  without  hesitation." 

Vibert  had  touched  the  right  spot. 


168     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  Is  it  settled?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  You  are  an  angel." 

"  Driver,"  called  out  the  agent  of  police,  putting  his 
head  out  of  the  window,  "  drive  to  Baratte's." 

"  No,  not  there !  "  cried  Langlade. 

"Why  not?     Isn't  it  a  good  place?" 

"  I  have  another  reason." 

"You  owe  some  money  there?" 

"  No,  I  owe  nothing." 

"What  is  your  reason,  then,  for  not  wanting  to  go  there  ?" 

"  I  dined  there,  three  days  ago,  with  her,"  replied  the 
convict,  with  a  sigh. 

Vibert  looked  at  Langlade  without  astonishment;  he 
understood  him.  An  agent  of  police  and  a  convict,  those 
two  extremes,  have  sometimes  points  of  contact. 

However,  Vibert  reflected  that  it  might  be  advantage- 
ous to  have  Langlade  in  the  room  where  he  had  dined 
with  Soleil-Couchant. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  he  said  to  his  companion,  "  ordinarily 
I  understand  all  the  workings  of  the  heart,  but  I  don't 
quite  see  through  this.  Now,  look  here;  either  you  still 
adore  your  faithless  charmer,  and  in  that  case  you  must 
take  pleasure  in  being  again  in  a  place  where  you  were 
together;  or  you  despise  and  execrate  her,  and  all  that 
concerns  her  is  perfectly  indifferent  to  you." 

"  I  do  despise  her!     I  do  execrate  her!" 

"  Well  then,  here  we  are  at  Baratte's;  let  us  go  in." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Langlade,  sullenly. 

They  got  out  of  the  carriage,  passed  through  the  hall, 
and  mounted  a  sort  of  ladder,  which  did  not  deserve  to 
be  called  a  staircase. 

On  the  first  floor  a  waiter  showed  them  into  a  private 
room.     Langlade  glanced  about  it  and  said: 


IN  THE  RUE  BE  LA  PALX.  169 

"  It  is  the  same;  I  recognize  it." 

"  Chance  always  brings  such  things  about,"  responded 
the  philosophical  Vibert. 

Then  he  ordered  an  excellent  breakfast,  appropriate 
for  the  occasion,  and  sat  down  at  the  table  opposite  the 
convict. 

"  I  am  unworthy  to  belong  to  the  police,"  he  thought, 
"  if,  before  breakfast  is  over,  that  idiot  has  not  told  me 
all.     What  unknown  crime  can  he  have  committed?  " 


IV. 

To  commence  with,  four  dozen  oysters  were  brought, 
to  which  Vibert,  to  give  a  good  example,  did  full  justice. 
Langlade  was  not  slow  in  following  suit;  either  his  appe- 
tite had  returned  to  him,  or  he  was  ashamed  to  appear 
longer  to  regret  his  faithless  mistress. 

"Now  give  your  order,"  said  Vibert,  when  the  four 
dozen  had  disappeared.  "  Don't  be  afraid;  it  is  the  State 
which  pays.     I  have  secret  funds." 

"  Then,  I  propose  a  beefsteak  with  mushrooms,"  said  the 
convict,  somewhat  cheered  up  by  the  bottle  of  white  wine 
they  had  drank  with  their  oysters. 

"  All  right,"  said  Vibert,  "  but  I'll  bet  you  have  some 
particular  reason  for  wanting  that." 

"What  reason?" 

"  Sentiment.  She  must  have  asked  for  a  beefsteak 
with  mushrooms  the  last  time  you  .dined  here.  Come, 
confess  it." 

"  But—" 

"  Now  don't  make  me  tease  you  as  if  you  were  a  pretty 
woman." 


170     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

°  One  can  hide  nothing  from  you.  You  are  a  devil," 
said  the  convict,  emptying  his  glass. 

"You  love  your  Soleil-Couchant  still,  eh?"  asked 
Vibert. 

"  No,  I  do  not  love  her,"  cried  Langlade,  bringing  his 
heavy  fist  down  upon  the  table  with  a  force  that  broke 
two  glasses. 

"  Now  don't  tell  me  such  fibs  as  that ! "  retorted  the 
agent  of  police.  "Is  it  possible  to  suddenly  cease  loving 
a  woman  one  has  adored  all  his  life  ?  " 

"  Adored,  yes,  adored! "  said  the  colossus,  with  a  heavy 
sigh.     "  And  she  never  loved  me!  " 

"  That  is  always  the  case,"  remarked  Vibert. 

"  If  you  knew  all  the  tricks  she  played  me! " 

"  I  don't  doubt  it.  They  are  all  alike.  And  at  each 
trick  you  loved  her  all  the  more  eh?" 

"  Alas ! " 

He  swallowed  a  glass  of  wine,  and  added: 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  talk  of  that.  I  should  say  too 
much." 

"  That  is  a  good  thing  to  know,"  thought  Vibert;  "  have 
no  fear,  my  friend,  we  will  return  to  this  subject  before 
breakfast  is  over." 

Then,  turning  to  Langlade,  who  was  sitting  with  his 
head  buried  in  his  hands,  he  said,  aloud: 

"You  no  longer  eat.  Remember,  it  will  be  a  long 
time  perhaps  before  you  have  so  good  a  breakfast." 

"  Why?"  demanded  the  convict,  raising  his  head. 

"  Why?  Well,  you  must  know,  from  long  experience, 
that  the  State  is  not  in  the  habit  of  nourishing  its  board- 
ers on  beefsteaks  with  mushrooms." 

"I  know  that.  But  perhaps  I  have  no  intention  of 
becoming  one  of  the  State's  boarders,"  said  Langlade, 
looking  the  agent  of  police  full  in  the  face. 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  171 

"Really?"  answered  the  latter,  without  betraying  the 
slightest  emotion.  "  I  thought,  however,  that  I  had  had 
the  pleasure  of  arresting  you  this  very  morning." 

°  You  arrested  me,  I  acknowledge.  But  what  will  pre- 
vent me  from  going  where  I  choose  when  I  have  finished 
my  breakfast?" 

U  J   ?> 

"You!  "  exclaimed  the  colossus,  with  a  roar  of  laughter. 
"You  haven't  taken  a  good  look  at  me,  then?" 

He  rose  to  his  full  height,  and  his  head  nearly  touched 
the  ceiling  of  the  room. 

"  Yes,"  said  Vibert,  examining  him  through  his  eyeglass, 
"  you  are  a  fine  man.  I  knew  it  already,  and  I  don't  think 
it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  parade  your  physical  advantages 
before  me." 

"And  my  shoulders,  have  you  remarked  them?"  con- 
tinued Langlade,  admiring  himself  complaisantly  in  a 
glass  placed  behind  Vibert. 

"  Can  you  give  them  to  me?  No.  Then  don't  boast  of 
your  charms;  it  humiliates  me." 

"I  only  wished  to  make  you  understand,"  said  the 
convict,  seating  himself  again,  "  that  after  breakfast  it 
would  be  very  easy  for  me  to  take  you  up  in  my  arms, 
cram  a  napkin  into  your  mouth  to  prevent  you  from  giving 
the  alarm,  and  throw  you  under  the  table,  while  I  went 
quietly  about  my  business." 

"  Yes,"  said  Vibert,  helping  Langlade  to  half  an  ome- 
lette, "  all  that  you  have  said  appears  at  first  sight  very 
easy  of  execution.     But — " 

"  But?"  demanded  the  convict. 

"  You  will  not  execute  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Two  motives  will  prevent  you." 

"What  are  they?" 


172     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  won't  be  able  to  lay  a  finger 
on  me." 

"You  are  joking?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Look! "  and  placing  a  pistol  before 
him.     "  Do  you  know  that?  "  he  asked. 

"  That's  my  pistol." 

"  Exactly.  In  your  despair,  you  forgot  it,  but  I  took 
possession  of  it.  If,  during  your  absence,  your  room 
should  be  searched,  this  weapon  would  have  compromised 
you,  and  I  wished  to  spare  you  that  annoyance — Oh!  don't 
cast  covetous  looks  at  that  pistol ;  I  shall  not  give  it  up 
to  you  again.  Affairs  have  changed  during  the  last  hour. 
This  morning  I  did  not  care  to  live;  now,  your  society 
and  this  white  wine  have  cheered  me  up,  and  I  am  no 
longer  morbid.  Be  kind  enough  to  keep  that  in  mind. 
What  will  you  take  for  dessert?"  he  continued,  in  the 
same  pleasant  tone.  "  I  propose  a  little  roquefort,  some 
crackers,  and  a  cup  of  black  coffee  with  a  glass  of  brandy. 
How  does  that  suit  you?" 

"  Order  what  you  like,"  said  Langlade,  gruffly.  "  But 
you  spoke  of  two  motives  which  would  prevent  me  from 
leaving  this  restaurant  without  you.  You  have  mentioned 
the  first;  what  is  the  second?  " 

"  Oh,  the  second  is  still  better." 

"Well?" 

"I  promised  you  that  before  you  were  locked  up,  I 
would  procure  you  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Soleil-Couchant; 
you  would  not  put  me  in  such  a  position  that  I  could  not 
fulfill  my  promise." 

"Bah!  I  care  more  for  my  liberty  than  for  a  woman," 
said  Langlade,  in  a  careless  tone. 

"  Soleil-Couchant  is  not  a  woman  to  you,  she  is  an  idol." 

"  I  shall  find  her  again." 

"la  ten  years,  two  years,  six  months,  or  even  two 


IN  THE   RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  173 

weeks,  if  you  like.  But  what  you  want  is  to  see  her  this 
very  day,  at  once ;  you  desire  to  be  able  to  cast  in  her 
face  all  the  anger  which  has  been  gradually  swelling  in 
your  heart  against  her  for  the  last  two  hours,  and  which  is 
stifling  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  true,"  cried  the  convict,  who  had  just 
drank  a  glass  full  of  brandy.  "  And  when  I  have  told  her 
all  I  have  in  my  heart,  I  will  strangle  her  with  these  two 
hands." 

"  You  will  make  a  mistake,  then,"  observed  Vibert, 
removing  the  bottle  of  brandy.  He  wished  Langlade  to 
be  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  but  he  did  not  desire 
him  to  become  absolutely  drunk. 

"  Why  should  I  make  a  mistake?"  asked  the  convict. 

"  Because  it  is  foolish  to  kill  her,  when  you  can  be  re- 
venged in  a  better  way." 

"In  what  way?" 

"A  day  in  prison,"  said  Vibert,  "frightened  Soleil- 
Couchant;  she  was  afraid  of  being  shut  up  for  five  or  ten 
years,  and  she  betrayed  you.  Betray  her,  in  your  turn. 
She  must  have  been  your  accomplice  in  more  than  one 
crime;  a  word  from  you  would  send  her  up  to  the  court 
of  assizes,  and  the  judge  would  sentence  her  to  some 
prison  where  she  could  betray  no  one." 

Langlade  reflected  a  moment,  and  said: 

"  No;  I  want  to  kill  her,  but  I  don't  want  her  to  suffer." 

"  I  have  failed,"  thought  Vibert.  "  This  fellow  is  too 
virtuous.     I  must  try  some  other  way." 

"  You  see  you  love  her  still,"  he  said,  aloud. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  do  love  her,  damn  you  !  Yes,  I  do  love 
her  !  "  cried  the  convict,  rising  to  his  feet. 

"  But  you  are  not  jealous." 

"  Not  "jealous,  I  !  " 

"  No;  if  you  were  jealous,  you  would  have    her   shut 


174     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

up,  so  that  she  could  not  deceive  you  during  your  absence 
at  Brest  or  Toulon." 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  am  going  to  kill  her  !  "  vociferated 
Langlade,  advancing  toward  Vibert  with  clenched  fists. 
"  Ah  !  I  am  not  jealous  !  "  he  continued,  becoming  more 
and  more  excited;  "  I,  who  killed  a  man  because  of  her!" 

"Don't  tell  me  that,"  said  Vibert,  "I  should  be 
obliged  to  denounce  you." 

He  knew  that  a  lover  and  a  drunken  man  are  all  the 
more  desirous  to  speak  if  one  appears  to  avoid  their 
confidences. 

"  Well,  denounce  me  then  ! "  cried  the  convict,  wild 
with  excitement.  "  What  difference  does  it  make  to  me? 
Since  Soleil-Couchant  has  betrayed  me,  I  prefer  to  mount 
the  scaffold  rather  than  to  return  to  the  galleys." 

He  seized  the  bottle  of  brandy,  and  placing  it  to  his 
lips  took  a  long  draught;  then,  approaching  as  near  as 
possible  to  the  agent  of  police,  he  continued  in  a  low 
voice  : 

"  Yes,  I  repeat  it,  I  killed  a  man,  because  of  her. 
Oh  !  it  was  not  long  ago;  it  was  last  October  or  Novem- 
ber. She  was  living  then  in  the  Rue  Neuve-Saint-Au- 
gustin.  One  evening  I  went  up  to  her  room  and  rapped 
at  her  door.  She  did  not  answer.  I  thought  that  she 
was  out,  and  I  was  about  to  go,  when  I  heard  voices 
within.  Then  I  went  down  to  the  story  below  and 
waited.  An  hour  passed.  The  door  opened  and  a  man 
appeared.  She  accompanied  him  to  the  top  of  the  stairs. 
'  I  shall  see  you  soon  again,'  she  said  to  him,  and  she  kissed 
him.  Why  did  I  not  dash  up  and  kill  them  both?  I 
don't  know.  The  man  descended;  I  flattened  myself 
against  the  wall  to  let  him  pass,  and  followed  him.  He 
walked  down  the  Rue  Neuve-Saint-AuguStin,and  turned 
into  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.     Suddenly  he  stopped  before  a 


IN  THE  HUE  DE  LA  PALX.  175 

house  and  entered;  I  did  the  same.  Then,  I  don't  know 
what  happened.  I  lost  my  head.  I  remember  nothing 
but  a  terrible  cry,  a  cry  uttered  by  my  rival.  Five 
minutes  afterward  I  was  with  Soleil-Couchant,  and  I  said 
to  her:  'I  have  killed  your  lover!'" 

This  recital,  mingled  with  numerous  libations,  com- 
pletely prostrated  Langlade;  his  head  fell  heavily  upon 
the  table.  All  Vibert's  efforts  to  obtain  further  details 
were  useless.  However,  what  more  did  he  need?  Was 
not  the  story  he  had  heard  as  clear  as  possible? 

While  the  convict  slept  a  heavy  slumber,  the  agent  of 
police  philosophized,  but  his  thoughts  kept  reverting  to 
the  Rue  de  Grammont. 

"  Men  never  change,  then,"  he  thought;  *'  their  wives 
absent  themselves  for  two  months,  and  they  have  not  the 
strength  to  remain  faithful  to  them.  Some  pretty  woman 
appears  and  smiles  upon  them,  and  they  forget  immedi- 
ately their  promises,  their  duty,  their  love!  Their  love?" 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  How  can  I  use  that 
word?  Do  those  people  love?  No  !  When  one  really 
loves  a  woman,  no  other  exists  upon  the  earth.  Bah  ! 
he  only  received  what  he  deserved;  to  deceive  a  woman 
like  that  is  infamy  !  " 

When,  an  hour  afterward,  the  convict  awoke,  Vibert 
tried  to  continue  the  conversation  at  the  point  it  had  been 
broken  off.  But  Langlade,  half  drunk,  obstinately  re- 
fused to  say  more.  He  had  now  only  one  idea;  to  see 
Soleil-Couchant  as  soon  as  possible.  The  agent  of  police 
saw  that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  delay  longer  in  keeping 
his  word.  He  paid  his  bill,  cocked  his  pistol,  entered 
the  carriage  which  was  still  waiting,  and  drove  with  his 
companion  in  the  direction  of  the  Prefecture. 


176     fedoea:  ojb,  the  tkagedy 


V. 

The  drive  of  Vibert  and  his  prisoner  was  troubled  by 
no  incident.  Langlade,  still  partially  stupefied  by  drink, 
lay  back  in  one  of  the  corners  of  the  carriage  and  did 
not  open  his  lips.  The  agent  of  police  watched  him  at- 
tentively; with  his  pistol  in  his  hand,  he  was  ready  to 
fire  at  the  slightest  attempt  to  escape.  He  did  not  want 
his  captive  to  escape  at  the  very  moment  he  was  about  to 
land  him  in  the  prison. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  Prefecture,  Vibert  ordered 
the  driver  to  stop,  and  as  Langlade  made  a  movement  to 
get  out,  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  arm,  and  said : 

"  One  word,  please." 

"  Again  !  "  grumbled  the  convict. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  it  won't  take  long.  You  have  only 
to  listen  for  a  moment." 

"Go  on,  then,"  said  Langlade,  in  a  resigned  tone, 
throwing  himself  back  again  in  the  corner. 

"  I  don't  know,"  continued  Vibert,  "  what  your  opinion 
is  of  agents  of  police  in  general.  It  probably  is  not  a 
very  good  one,  as  I  can  easily  understand.  But  I  have 
my  own  personal  conceit,  and  I  want  you  to  think  as 
little  badly  of  me  as  possible.  Let  us  establish  our  posi- 
tion clearly,  then,  so  that  you  may  have  nothing  to 
reproach  me  with.  You  have  expressed  a  wish  to  see 
Soleil-Couchant,  and  I  have  promised  you  that  you  shall 
see  her,  and  I  will  keep  my  word;  in  the  first  place, 
because  I  have  no  interest  in  not  keeping  it,  and  secondly, 
because,  in  my  opinion,  an  agent  of  police  who  respects 
himself  and  his  profession  has  no  right  to  deceive  a 
malefactor;  that  would  be  descending  too  low.  But 
when  you  set  your  foot  within  the  Prefecture,  you  are 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  177 

only  an  escaped  galley  slave,  a  dangerous  being  at  open 
war  with  society,  and  against  whom  too  many  precautions 
can  not  be  taken.  You  have  then  only  me  to  rely  upon; 
my  influence  ceases  at  the  door  of  the  building  you  see 
before  you.  Just  now,  I  was  your  table  companion,  a 
comrade  to  whom  you  narrated  your  domestic  sorrows; 
now  I  become  a  simple  employe  of  the  Prefecture.  I  have 
arrested  you,  I  deliver  you  up  to  the  authorities,  and 
come  what  may,  my  task  is  ended,  and  I  return  to  my 
own  affairs." 

"  You  will  not  leave  me  before  letting  me  see  Soleil- 
Couchant,"  said  Langlade,  who,  still  dominated  by  one 
fixed  idea,  had  paid  but  scanty  attention  to  Vibert's 
discourse. 

"  Of  course  not,"  replied  Vibert,  "  but  now  please  hold 
out  your  hands." 

"What  for?" 

"  So  I  can  put  on  the  handcuffs." 

"  But  I  shan't  hurt  any  one,"  said  the  convict,  com- 
pletely subdued  and  as  gentle  as  a  child;  "  Soleil-Cou- 
chant  is  the  only  one  I  have  a  grudge  against." 

"  My  friend,"  replied  Vibert,  mildly,  "  during  the  four 
hours  we  have  been  together,  I  have  proved  to  you 
sufficiently,  I  think,  that  I  have  no  fear  of  you.  But, 
from  this  moment,  we  shall  not  be  alone.  You  must  go 
up  the  staircase,  traverse  corridors,  and  enter  an  office 
where  you  will  be  met  by  a  crowd  of  persons  who  know 
you  by  sight  and  reputation,  and  whom  you  inspire  with 
fear,  exaggerated,  I  confess,  but  still  very  great.  It  is  in 
the  interest  of  their  peace  of  mind  that  I  propose  to  you 
this  little  precaution.     Be  good  enough  to  agree  to  it." 

"  If  I  am  handcuffed,"  observed  the  convict,  quietly, 
"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  kill  Soleil-Couchant." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  replied  Vibert,  "  the  handcuffs 
13 


178  FEDORA  :    OB,  THE  TRAGEDY 

will  not  prevent  you  from  raising  your  hands  and  bringing 
them  down  on  a  certain  person's  head.  "With  the  strength 
you  are  fortunate  enough  to  possess,  a  movement  of  that 
kind  would  be  sufficient  to  disembarrass  you  of  several 
feeble  women.  Then  also,  as  Soleil-Couchant's  life,  I 
have  already  told  you,  is  a  matter  of  no  moment  to  me,  I 
promise  you,  if  you  insist,  that  the  handcuffs  shall  be 
removed  when  you  are  in  her  presence." 

"Then  go  ahead;  I  am  in  a  hurry,"  said  Langlade, 
holding  out  his  hands  to  Vibert. 

Vibert  availed  himself  of  the  permission,  and  said  to 
the  driver: 

"  Take  the  Rue  de  Jerusalem,  enter  the  court  of  the 
Prefecture,  and  stop  before  the  main  entrance." 

In  five  minutes  Vibert,  with  his  captive,  entered  the 
office  of  the  chief  of  police. 

He  advanced  to  the  desk  and  said: 

"  I  have  kept  my  promise;  here  he  is." 

"Who?"  asked  the  chief,  raising  his  head. 

"  Langlade." 

"  You  have  arrested  him?  " 

"  I,  alone.     Did  I  not  promise  to  do  so?  " 

"Very  well,  Monsieur.  I  thank  you  heartily;  you 
have  rendered  us  a  signal  service.  In  an  hour  I  shall  see 
the  prefect,  and  I  promise  to  speak  to  him  of  you." 

"  As  you  please,  Monsieur,"  said  Vibert,  "  but  I  shall 
refuse  any  reward  for  this  business,  which  has  interested 
me  greatly  and  taken  my  mind  off  my  own  troubles.  I 
have  only  one  request  to  make  of  you." 

H  It  is  granted  in  advance." 

The  chief  rose  and  spoke  with  Vibert  in  the  embrasure 
of  one  of  the  windows. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  after  a  short  conversation.  "  I  am 
of  your  opinion  that  it  is  always  necessary  to  keep  prom- 


IN  THE  RUB  DE  LA  PAIX.  179 

ises  made  to  people  of  that  sort.  They  fear  us,  they  hate 
us,  they  kill  us,  but  they  are  forced  to  respect  us.  I  will 
have  Langlade  taken  to  one  of  the  cells  of  the  Concier- 
gerie,  and  will  give  orders  in  regard  to  his  mistress. " 

"I  would  like,"  said  Vibert,  "  to  have  an  interview  with 
that  woman  before  she  meets  Langlade;  I  have  an  impor- 
tant point  to  elucidate  in  regard  to  another  matter,  and 
she  may  be  able  to  give  me  useful  information." 

"Certainly,  you  have  only  to  g©  to  the  prison;  here  is 
a  note  for  the  head-jailor." 

Vibert  bowed  and  retired,  while  agents  summoned  by 
the  chief  of  police  conducted  Langlade  to  the  Concier- 
gerie.  This  man  so  strong,  so  brutal,  so  terrible,  followed 
his  guards  quietly.  He  had  only  one  thought:  to  see 
Soleil-Couchant  again  as  soon  as  possible.  Any  resistance 
would  have  delayed  the  moment  he  looked  forward  to  so 
ardently. 

The  news  of  his  arrest  spread  rapidly  through  the 
building.  Clerks,  police  officers  and  some  strangers  who 
happened  to  be  at  the  Prefecture,  ran  to  see  him  pass  by. 
He  walked  before  them  all,  calm  and  indifferent.  "What 
mattered  these  people  to  him?  He  was  reserving  all  his 
anger  for  the  woman  who  had  deceived  and  betrayed  him. 


VI. 

Stephanie  Cornu,  nicknamed  Soleii-Couchant,  as  we 
have  said,  was  a  girl  with  red  hair,  naturally  red.  It  is 
well  to  be  explicit  on  this  subject,  in  an  age  when 
woman's  hair  changes  so  easily  its  shade. 

Souvent  cTwoeu  varie; 
Bien  f  ol  est  qui  s'y  fie, 

Francois  I.  would  say  to-day. 


180  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Soleil-Couchant,  therefore,  had  all  the  beauty  and  charm 
of  women  with  red  hair,  as  she  had  also  certain  of  their 
imperfections.  She  was  a  tall,  handsome  girl,  with  broad 
shoulders  and  a  superb  figure.  Her  hands  and  feet  were 
large,  but  well  shaped.  There  was  something  at  once 
strange,  tender,  cold,  lascivious,  passionate  and  cruel  about 
her.  Very  thin  and  rather  pale  lips  enclosed  teeth,  white, 
small,  regular  and  slightly  separated  from  one  another. 
The  chin  was  heavy  and  sensual;  the  nose  small,  turned 
up,  and  with  sensitive,  dilated  nostrils.  The  eyes,  long 
like  those  of  a  Chinese,  without  distinct  color,  green,  blue, 
gray  or  yellow,  according  to  the  time  of  day  and  the  de- 
gree of  light,  were  surmounted  by  thick,  well  formed 
eyebrows,  which  is  rare  among  red-haired  women.  A  few 
freckles  scattered  here  and  there  rather  enhanced  her 
beauty  than  otherwise.  As  for  her  hair,  we  will  be  ex- 
pected, perhaps,  to  give  its  exact  shade.  To  say  that  a 
woman  has  red  hair  is  not  sufficient.  As  there  are  degrees 
in  crime,  there  are  perhaps  even  more  in  the  color  red. 
We  will  say  that  the  nickname  of  Soleil-Couchant  (Set- 
ting-Sun) given  to  Stephanie  Cornu  was  perfectly  justified. 
Her  massive,  silky  hair,  which,  when  let  down,  fell  below 
her  knees,  had  the  shades  and  reflections  of  the  sun  when 
it  sets  at  the  end  of  a  warm  autumn  day. 

In  our  days  a  woman  like  the  one  we  have  so  imper- 
fectly described  would  create  a  veritable  furore.  Mag- 
nificent toilettes,  superb  houses,  elegant  equipages  would 
be  at  her  command.  But  in  1847  red  hair  was  not  yet 
in  fashion.  At  that  rather  backward  epoch  they  still 
believed  in  brunettes. 

Soleil-Couchant  should  certainly  have  been  born  fifteen 
years  later.  We  are  not  certain,  however,  that,  despite 
her  wonderful  beauty,  she  would  even  in  that  case  have 
been  an  entire  success  in  the  monde  galant.     She  would 


m  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX  181 

have  had  some  success,  certainly,  but  it  would  have 
been  an  ephemeral  success.  This  would  not  be  her  fault; 
she  did  not  know  how  to  make  her  way  in  the  world.  To 
understand  this  is  a  great  art  in  our  days;  and  in  those 
who  do  understand  it,  many  imperfections,  faults  and 
even  vices  are  overlooked. 

A  man  of  the  world  who  knows  how  to  make  his  way 
and  establish  a  position  for  himself,  always  has  elegant 
clothes,  snowy  linen  and  irreproachable  boots.  He  would 
not,  for  an  empire,  appear  in  the  streets  of  Paris  in  a  pot 
hat,  even  in  the  month  of  August.  He  would  not  allow 
himself  to  appear  in  a  cab,  he  would  not  dare  to  carry  in 
his  hand  the  smallest  of  parcels.  He  will  have  a  dozen 
mistresses;  he  will  ruin  himself  for  them  and  compromise 
at  the  same  time  the  future  of  his  wife  and  children,  but 
he  will  avoid  showing  himself  in  the  first  tier  at  the  opera 
or  in  an  open  carriage  in  the  Bois  with  the  least  compro- 
mising of  his  mistresses.  He  may  never  pay  his  trades- 
people, but  he  will  with  the  most  exemplary  regularity 
settle  his  losses  on  the  Bourse,  his  racing  bets  and  his 
gambling  debts. 

A  woman  of  the  world  who  knows  how  to  keep  her 
position  will  carry  on,  if  it  suits  her,  many  intrigues;  but 
she  will  never  parade  her  lovers.  She  will  appear  in 
public  as  often  as  possible  with  her  husband  and  her 
children,  although  the  rest  of  the  time  she  forgets  them 
entirely.  She  will  flirt,  as  much  as  she  pleases,  in  the 
privacy  of  her  own  boudoir,  but  she  will  not  indulge  in 
the  slightest  coquetry  in  public. 

As  for  women  of  another  class,  men  demand  of  them 
also  to  know  how  to  keep  their  position.  They  consent 
to  be  deceived,  but  they  wish  to  be  so  with  persons  in 
their  own  rank  of  life.  In  fact,  the  demi-mondaine  is 
ruined,  pecuniarily  speaking,  of  course,  for  morally  she 


182     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

gains,  perhaps,  the  day  it  is  rumored  in  the  principal 
clubs  of  Paris  that  she  has  a  fancy  for  men  in  a  low  rank 
of  life. 

In  this  way  Soleil-Couchant  never  knew  how  to  keep 
her  position.  Of  an  especially  capricious  nature,  she  had 
always  sacrificed  her  interests  to  her  caprices.  She  could 
not  deny  herself  the  pleasure  of  a  tete-a-tete  with  a  man 
who  pleased  her;  it  made  no  difference  to  her  if  he  wore 
heavy  boots,  rough  clothes,  and  had  the  face  of  a  clown 
in  a  circus. 

It  is  related  of  her  that  one  evening,  during  her  short 
reign,  she  was  suddenly  smitten  with  a  supe  at  the  Varietes 
Theatre;  and  to  join  him,  she  at  once  left  her  box,  in 
which  were  a  son  of  a  peer  of  France  and  two  secretaries 
of  legation. 

She  probably  was  smitten  in  this  same  sudden  way 
with  Langlade.  His  magnificent  physique  and  broad 
shoulders  fascinated  her  at  first  sight.  Excessively  curi- 
ous, she  no  doubt  wished  to  know  how  such  giants  made 
love;  if  they  were  tender,  impassioned  and  eloquent. 

Informed  in  this  respect,  she  then  thought,  according 
to  her  usual  custom,  of  satisfying  other  curiosities.  But 
here  she  encountered  a  little  difficulty  in  reckoning  with- 
out her  host.  Langlade  had  fallen  violently,  madly  in 
love  with  her.  His  heart  was  in  proportion  to  his  stature; 
there  was  room  in  it  for  an  ardent,  serious  love  and  vio- 
lent passions.  He  would  not  agree,  when  she  wished  to 
quit  him  as  easily  as  she  had  taken  up  with  him.  He 
declared  that  if  Soleil-Couchant  were  tired  of  him,  he 
was  not  tired  of  her,  and  refused  to  yield  his  place  to 
others. 

From  this  moment  the  existence  of  the  beautiful  Ste- 
phanie Cornu  underwent  a  complete  change.  It  was  suffi- 
cient for  her  to  show  herself  twice  in  public  with  Lang- 


IK"  THE  RITE  DE  LA  PAIX.  183 

lade  to  be  banished  from  elegant  Bohemia.  Her  most 
intimate  acquaintances  and  most  indulgent  friends  were 
forced  to  avoid  her.  Langlade,  although  at  that  time  he 
had  never  been  in  prison,  had  all  the  qualities  which 
might  well  send  him  there.  His  appearance  and  language 
were  anything  but  what  they  should  be.  He  seized  upon 
Soleil-Couchant,  as  an  eagle  seizes  its  prey.  He  had 
his  way  by  the  sheer  force  of  strength;  he  obliged  her  to 
live  with  him  and  forbade  her  any  other  relation.  These 
two  beings  were  more  closely  bound  together  than  if  the 
church  and  the  law  had  united  them. 

But  it  was  necessary  to  live.  In  our  modern  society 
brute  strength  is  only  of  use  to  porters  and  day  laborers; 
strength,  in  Paris,  brings  in  an  income  of  only  three  or 
four  francs  a  day.  This  sum  would  have  been  sufficient 
for  Langlade;  it  was  totally  insufficient  for  Soleil-Couchant. 
It  was  then  that  he  had  recourse  to  theft  to  supply  the 
wants  of  his  mistress.  He  beat  her  whenever  she  indulged 
in  the  slightest  flirtation,  but  he  could  not  refuse  her  any- 
thing she  fancied.  Soleil-Couchant  had  much  to  console 
her  for  being  beaten,  but  one  fine  day,  Langlade,  who  was 
trying  to  obtain,  in  his  own  peculiar  fashion,  something 
she  had  admired  in  a  jeweler's  window,  was  caught,  and 
shortly  after  sent  to  the  galleys  of  Toulon. 

Scarcely  had  Soleil-Couchant  drawn  a  long  breath  and 
begun  to  think  of  forming  new  ties  more  easy  to  break, 
when  her  dear  tyrant,  whom  she  thought  she  was  forever 
rid  of,  appeared  before  her  and  destroyed  her  dreams  of 
independence.  Unable  to  live  away  from  his  mistress, 
he  had  succeeded,  thanks  to  his  wonderful  strength,  in 
escaping  from  prison. 

Stephanie  Cornu  now  enjoyed  even  less  liberty  than 
formerly.  Obliged  to  avoid  the  police,  who  are  very 
severe  upon  escaped  convicts,  Langlade  thought  it  the 


184  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

most  natural  thing  to  hide  himself  in  the  apartments 
occupied  by  Soleil-Couchant.  He  never  left  her  for  a 
minute.  He  watched  over  her  with  the  most  touching 
solicitude ;  he  was  more  closely  attached  to  her  than  ivy 
to  an  old  oak.  Excessively  jealous,  he  never  permitted 
her  to  go  out,  under  the  pretext  that  he  could  not  accom- 
pany her  for  fear  of  being  arrested.  Six  months  of 
unalloyed  happiness  passed  by.  Langlade  was  the  hap- 
piest of  men;  Stephanie,  behind  her  blinds,  watched  the 
policemen,  thinking  to  herself  that  they  might  possibly* 
take  a  notion  to  come  up.  The  poor  woman  no  longer 
saw  the  shops,  and  could  have  no  more  fancies.  One 
day,  however,  she  expressed  a  wish  to  have  some  furni- 
ture of  her  own.  Langlade,  always  a  gentleman,  hastened 
to  please  her;  he  went  out  two  nights  in  succession,  made 
a  skillful  survey,  and  the  third  night  he  robbed  from  top 
to  bottom  a  country  house  in  the  suburbs  of  Paris. 

He  did  it  well,  as  his  eminently  generous  nature  knew 
how  to  do;  he  even  brought  the  kitchen  stove,  so  that 
Soleil-Couchant  should  not  have  to  buy  one.  The  owner 
of  the  house,  who  had  doubtless  never  been  in  love,  had  the 
bad  taste  to  complain.  The  police  had  the  indelicacy  to 
listen  to  him,  and  following  up  certain  traces,  they  arrested 
this  time  not  only  Langlade,  but  Soleil-Couchant  with 
him. 

Ah!  if  the  magistrates  had  only  been  kind  enough  to 
give  them  the  same  sentence  and  to  send  them  to  the 
same  prison,  Langlade  would  have  been  the  happiest  of 
men!  But  he  was  condemned,  as  a  second  offender,  to 
twenty  years' hard  labor  at  Brest,  while  Soleil-Couchant, 
as  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods,  was  sent  for  one  year  to 
Saint-Lazare. 

The  day  of  her  release  from  prison,  at  the  end  of  the 
year,  she  found  a  carriage  at  the  door  of  Saint-Lazare, 


IN"  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  185 

and  upon  the  box,  disguised  as  a  coachman,  was  the  faith- 
ful Langlade,  who  had  escaped  from  Brest  a  week  before 
in  order  to  celebrate  the  release  of  his  dear  mistress. 

We  know  how  he  was  arrested  for  the  third  time,  with 
which  Soleil-Couchant  had  something  to  do. 

All  these  private  details  were  unknown  to  the  police. 
They  imagined  naturally  that,  frightened  by  her  arrest, 
trembling  lest  she  be  compromised  again  by  Langlade's 
crimes  and  be  sent  to  prison  for  a  number  of  years,  she 
had  denounced  her  lover  in  order  to  merit  the  indulgence 
of  the  magistrates. 

To  believe  this  was  not  to  know  Stephanie  Cornu;  she 
was  not  a  woman  to  be  frightened  at  so  little.  She  had 
denounced  Langlade  in  order  to  get  rid  of  him,  and  she 
had  managed  her  own  arrest  so  as  to  be  out  of  the  reach 
of  his  anger  till  he  should  escape  again. 

With  much  spirit,  Soleil-Couchant  had  great  intelli- 
gence.    Red-haired  women  are  never  ordinary  women. 


VII. 

When  Vibert  entered  her  cell,  Soleil-Couchant  was 
seated  upon  a  straw  bed,  playing,  like  a  child,  with  her  hair 
which  fell  over  her  shoulders.  A  ray  of  sunshine,  gliding 
through  the  barred  window,  fell  upon  her  luxuriant  locks 
and  made  them  glitter  like  gold. 

Any  other  than  the  agent  of  police  would  have  admired 
this  picture,  but  Vibert  reserved  his  admiration  for  other 
subjects.  He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  while  Stepha- 
nie Cornu,  startled,  threw  her  hair  back  from  her  face. 

"  So,  my  girl,"  said  Vibert,  in  a  paternal  tone  and  with- 
out further  preamble,  "  here  you  are,  locked  up  again." 


186  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"Oh!  Good  Heavens,  yes,"  replied  Soleil-Couchant, 
who,  during  her  sojourn  at  Saint-Lazare,  had  become 
familiar  with  the  customs  of  prisons,  and  was  neither 
astonished  at  Vibert's  sudden  entrance  nor  his  cavalier 
manner. 

"  You  will  end  by  being  sent  up  for  a  long  sentence," 
continued  the  agent  of  police. 

"  Let  them  do  it!    I  ask  nothing  better! " 

"What!"  cried  Vibert,  "you  have  passed  a  year  at 
Saint-Lazare,  and  a  prison  life  does  not  alarm  you?" 

"Prison  life  for  me  is  paradise!  Liberty  is  hell!" 
replied  Soleil-Couchant,  a  trifle  emphatically. 

" "What  do  you  say?    You  are  not  happy  then?" 

"Happy,  I!" 

"  Your  home  is  not  a  pleasant  one?" 

"My  home,  oh!" 

Nothing  can  describe  the  tone  in  which  she  said  these 
words.  No  long  speech  could  have  been  more  expres- 
sive, or  could  have  explained  more  clearly  the  situation 
to  Vibert.  He  guessed  in  a  second  through  what  terrible 
trials  this  woman  must  have  passed,  the  suffering  she 
must  have  undergone,  and  the  implacable  hatred  which 
burned  in  her  heart. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  to  be  a 
colossus  is  not  sufficient  to  render  a  woman  happy?" 

She  started  to  her  feet. 

"  You  know  him,  then?" 

"  Not  so  well  as  you,  fortunately  for  me,"  he  replied; 
"  but  I  know  him." 

"  Well,"  she  cried,  "  I  hate  him  ! " 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  that,"  remarked  Vibert. 

She  seized  his  hands,  drew  him  toward  her,  so  that 
he  should  not  lose  a  word  of  what  she  was  going  to  say, 
and,  with  her  features  contracted  with  anger  and  her  long 


IN  THE  RUE  BE  LA  PAIX.  187 

hair  floating  about  her  head  and  over  her  naked  shoulders, 
she  continued: 

"  Yes,  I  hate  him !  And  I  wish  to  say  it,  I  wish  to  scream 
it  out,  so  every  one  can  hear  me!  At  last  I  can  speak 
to  another  man  than  him  !  I  have  broken  my  chains,  my 
tyrant  does  not  spy  upon  me,  I  no  longer  tremble  before 
him  !  Ah  !  the  wretch!  He  has  made  me  suffer  enough! 
He  has  treated  me  as  his  slave,  as  his  dog,  long  enough! 
It  is  five  years  that  it  has  lasted  !  Yes,  five  years,  during 
three  of  which  I  was  forced  to  live  by  his  side.  What 
agony!  I  was  only  happy  at  Saint- Lazare;  I  breathed, 
at  least;  I  was  free  !  What  tyranny  !  I,  who  was  so 
joyous  and  gay  once,  who  obeyed  only  my  own  caprices  ! 
Ah!  my  caprices!  Upon  my  word,  my  last  one  was  most 
successful  !  What  !  because  one  accepts  a  man's  society 
for  a  day,  must  he  impose  himself  upon  you  all  his  life, 
rivet  you  to  him  with  a  chain,  brand  his  initials  upon  your 
shoulder?  'I  love  you,'  he  said  to  me,  'I  love  you,  and  I 
don't  wish  to  leave  you.'  Well,  what  business  is  it  of 
mine  if  you  do  love  me,  if  I  no  longer  love  you?  A  man 
one  has  ceased  to  love  is  nothing,  less  than  nothing!  You 
say  to  him,  'Go  ! '  and  he  ought  to  go.  Do  not  my  youth 
and  beauty  belong  to  me?  I  consent  to  lend  them,  I 
don't  give  them  away,  or  lease  them  for  ninety-nine  years! 
My  God!  what  a  coward  I  have  been!  what  a  coward  I 
have  been!  I!  so  brave  once!  I!  to  whom  all  yielded. 
Ah!  how  I  managed  men!  It  was  no  use  for  them  to 
plead  and  beg  and  complain;  I  would  say,  'you  annoy 
me,'  and  they  would  depart  to  return  and  throw  them- 
selves at  my  feet  the  next  day.  But  he!  he  suddenly 
broke  me  down,  overpowered  me,  killed  me!  His  harsh 
voice  made  me  tremble;  his  slightest  gesture  sent  a 
shudder  through  me.  He  commanded,  and  I  obeyed;  I 
would  have  lain  under  his  feet,  if  he  had  exacted   it, 


188  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

and  he  did  exact  it,  the  coward  !  He  liked  to  show  his 
strength!  Why  did  they  nickname  me  Soleil-Couchant? 
Chieu-Couchant  would  have  been  better;  for  I  was  a 
dog,  nothing  but  a  dog  of  the  worst  kind.  He  would 
strike  me,  and  after  striking  me,  say,  '  Forgive  me,'  and 
I  would  seem  to  forgive  him,  so  as  not  to  be  struck  again. 
He  would  say  to  me  '  Am  I  not  handsome? '  and  I  would 
reply,  *  Oh  yes,  you  are  very  handsome.'  *  You  love  me, 
do  you  not?'  and  I  would  murmur,  'I  adore  you!'  be- 
cause I  knew  it  would  not  do  for  me  to  contradict 
him,  the  monster  !  In  a  fit  of  rage,  he  was  capable  of 
anything;  he  would  have  killed  me  without  hesita- 
tion, and  I  want  to  live  !  Why?  I  don't  know;  but 
death  terrifies  me.  I  wish  to  live;  it  is  five  years 
since  I  have  done  so;  I  long  for  liberty,  the  sun,  and 
the  fresh  air  !  " 

She  stopped  to  take  breath,  and  continued: 
"Monsieur,  I  do  not  know  you;  but  it  is  easy  to  see 
that  you  belong  to  the  police  from  the  manner  you  entered 
my  cell  and  your  way  of  speaking.  Langlade,  conse- 
quently, is  your  enemy;  you  can  wish  no  good  to  an 
escaped  convict;  you  will  not  betray  me.  Well,  if  I 
committed  a  theft  day  before  yesterday,  it  was  only  to 
be  out  of  his  reach,  free  from  his  presence.  Scarcely  was 
I  brought  here,  when  I  was  recognized  and  questioned  in 
regard  to  Langlade.  I  answered  frankly,  and  they 
thought  I  wished  to  buy  the  good  graces  of  the  police. 
Your  good  graces  !  What  for?  You  are  my  friends, 
gentlemen;  I  only  ask  one  thing  of  you,  to  keep  me  as 
long  as  possible  among  you.  Does  the  prison  terrify  me? 
Nothing  terrifies  me,  nothing!  I  am  brave.  He  alone 
made  me  tremble,  he  alone!  Away  from  him,  all  my 
eourage  returns  to  me." 

"  Well,  my  girl,"  said  Vibert,  "  you  need  have  no  fears. 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  189 

Thanks  to  your  excellent  information,  Langlade  has  been 
arrested." 

"  Truly?  "  she  cried.     "  Truly?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  the  truth." 

"Ah!  I  did  not  hope  it  !" 

Her  face  fairly  beamed  and  she  seemed  to  breathe  more 
easily. 

"  He  did  not  defend  himself,  then  ? "  she  asked, 
scarcely  daring  to  believe  her  good  fortune. 

"  Very  little,"  responded  the  agent  of  police. 

"Who  dared  to  arrest  him?"  she  inquired  again. 

u  J  '» 

She  looked  at  Vibert,  smiled  disdainfully,  and  said: 

"  That  isn't  possible." 

"  Why  not?  "  he  answered,  with  a  shade  of  annoyance. 
"  Because  I  am  ten  inches  shorter  than  he?  Height  is 
nothing;  intelligence  is  everything.  You  are  too  material 
to  understand  that;  physical  strength  overpowers  you; 
you  don't  make  enough  allowance  for  strength  of  mind. 
But  still,  it  only  took  me  an  hour  to  make  of  your  Langlade 
a  regular  lamb ;  you  were  not  able  to  accomplish  it  in  five 
years." 

" Then  it  was  you  who  arrested  him?" 

"  I  myself,  and  I  alone." 

Suddenly  she  threw  her  arms  about  the  agent  of  police 
and  kissed  him  warmly  on  the  lips. 

"  You  are  very  kind  and  very  effusive,  my  dear,"  said 
Vibert,  completely  insensible  to  this  unexpected  caress. 
"  I  can  not  understand  the  joy  you  appear  to  feel.  Lang- 
lade is  arrested,  in  prison,  and  will  be  sent  back  to  the 
galleys,  true;  but  he  has  escaped  twice;  he  will  escape 
again,  and  your  martyrdom  will  begin  over  again." 

Soleil-Couchant's  face  fell  terribly. 

"  You  will  never  be  at  ease,"  continued  Vibert,  "  you 


190  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

will  never  sleep  peacefully  as  long  as  you  know  he  is  at 
the  galleys.  He  can  escape  as  easily  as  possible.  It  is 
only  fun  for  him." 

"  What  shall  I  do? "  she  asked,  without  yet  under- 
standing the  agent's  drift. 

"  There  are  in  the  code,"  observed  Vibert,  "  other  pun- 
ishments besides  confinement  and  forced  labor." 

«  What?  " 

"  Well,  for  instance,  the  death  penalty." 

"  He  can  not  be  condemned  to  death,"  she  said,  turning 
pale.     "  He  has  done  nothing  to  deserve  that." 

"Are  you  so  very  sure?"  asked  Vibert,  approaching 
her  and  looking  her  in  the  eyes. 

She  became  still  paler,  and  the  agent  of  police  heard 
her  murmur  these  words: 

"  I  will  not  speak.  No,  this  time  I  will  not  speak.  I 
do  not  wish  him  to  die." 

"  It  is  strange,"  observed  Vibert,  "  how  you  and  Lang- 
lade differ  in  opinion!  You  say:  I  wish  him  to  be  put  in 
prison,  but  I  do  not  wish  him  to  die.  He  said  to  me  not 
long  ago:  I  do  not  wish  her  to  be  put  in  prison,  I  wish  her 
to  die." 

"  Ah!  he  said  that?  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word." 

"  He  wishes  me  to  die  ?  " 

"  Not  only  that,  but  to  kill  you  himself." 

"  How  could  he  kill  me?    He  is  in  prison! " 

"  Nothing  would  be  more  easy  for  him.  I  will  even 
tell  you  now  that  you  run  the  greatest  danger  at  this 
moment." 

"  I  told  you  I  was  afraid  of  death,  and  you  are  trying  to 
frighten  me." 

"  Believe  what  you  choose;  but  I  swear  to  you  that  at 
this  moment  Langlade  is  plotting  your  death." 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  191 

"  Why  should  he  kill  me  ?    What  have  I  done  to  him  ?  " 

"Why!  you  betrayed  him." 

"  He  doesn't  know  it." 

"  Pardon  me,  I  told  him  of  it." 

"  What!  you  have—" 

"  It  was  my  only  means  of  persuading  him  to  come  with 
me." 

"  It  is  outrageous! "  she  cried.  "  The  commissary  whom 
I  told  of  Langlade's  hiding-place  promised  my  name 
should  not  be  mentioned  to  him." 

"  The  commissary  has  kept  his  promise,  but  I  had  made 
none,  and  I  told  him  what  seemed  best  to  me." 

"Then  I  am  lost!     1  am  lost,  if  he  escapes!" 

"  Prevent  him  from  escaping,  and  send  him  up  to  the 
court  of  assizes.     The  jury  will  send  him  to  the  scaffold." 

"  He  may  be  acquitted." 

"  Impossible,  if  he  has  any  murder  upon  his  conscience. 
Little  mercy  is  shown  to  a  twice  escaped  galley-slave, 
enjoying  such  a  terrible  reputation  as  Langlade." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  said,  "  he  will  be  condemned." 

"  Speak  then,  if  you  wish  to  live." 

'*  Certainly,  I  wish  to  live;  but  how  will  you  preserve 
my  life?  He  is  arrested,  he  is  in  prison,  and  yet  you  tell 
me  yourself  that  I  run  the  risk  of  being  killed  by  him." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  all?  " 

"  That  is  the  least  you  can  do." 

"  Listen,  then.  After  learning  of  your  treachery,  Lang- 
lade still  hesitated  to  follow  me.  Then,  to  decide  him,  I 
gave  him  my  word  that  he  should  see  you  to-day  face  to 
face." 

"  See  me! "  she  cried  in  terror;  "  and  yet  he  had  told 
you  that  he  would  kill  me." 

"  Certainly.  What  difference  do  you  suppose  that  made 
to  me?    I  didn't  even  know  you." 


192     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

She  reflected  a  moment,  and  said: 

"  Will  you  keep  the  word  you  have  given  him,  if  I  tell 
you  what  you  want  to  know?" 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  not  to  do  so.  But  I  can  do  it 
without  danger  to  you.  Instead  of  having  Langlade 
brought  here  to  your  cell,  as  was  my  intention,  I  shall 
simply  have  him  taken  to  the  waiting  room  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie.  You  will  also  go  there.  He  can  say  to  you 
what  he  likes,  insult  you  to  his  heart's  content;  but  he 
can  not  touch  a  hair  of  your  head;  there  will  be  an  iron 
grating  between  you." 

"  But,"  said  Soleil-Couchant,  who  thought  of  everything 
when  her  life  was  in  question,  "  suppose  he  should  have 
some  firearm?" 

"Oh!  you  need  not  worry  about  that.  No  one  enters 
the  Conciergerie  without  being  thoroughly  searched;  but 
to  make  sure,  and  in  view  of  the  interest  with  which  you 
inspire  me,  I  will  have  him  searched  again.  Moreover, 
you  can  judge  for  yourself  whether  he  is  already  dis- 
armed; cast  your  eyes  upon  that  pistol." 

Stephanie  looked  at  the  weapon  which  Vibert  presented 
to  her,  and  said: 

"  Yes,  I  recognize  it.  Ah!  how  often  he  has  frightened 
me  with  that!  He  never  ceased  to  threaten  me  with  it. 
Only  last  week,  under  the  pretext  that  I  was  flirting, 
through  the  window,  with  a  neighbor,  he  wanted  to  blow 
my  brains  out.  So,  while  he  was  asleep,  I  took  the  pistol, 
and  drew  out  the  charges.     Try  it.     It  won't  go  off." 

Vibert  snapped  both  triggers  with  no  effect. 

"  Well !  "  he  cried,  laughing,  "  to  think  that  Langlade 
and  I  threatened  each  other  for  over  an  hour  with  this 
pistol,  and  both  in  good  faith!  What  a  power  imagina- 
tion is! " 

He  was  about  to  continue  the  conversation  where  they 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  193 

had  left  it  off,  when  Soleil-Couchant,  who  was  standing  by 
his  side,  passed  her  arm  about  his  neck,  laid  her  cheek 
against  his,  and  said  in  her  most  caressing  voice: 

"Then  you  are  intelligent?" 

"  I  have  always  thought  so,"  said  Vibert,  trying  to  dis- 
engage himself. 

But  she  continued: 

"  Langlade  is  big,  clumsy  and  stupid;  you  are  little, 
thin  and  clever,  and  I  like  you." 

"  What,  suddenly,  like  that?  "  he  asked. 

"  Bah!  "  she  said,  "  it  is  such  a  long  time  since  I  could 
have  a  fancy  for  any  one." 

"  I  see,"  said  Vibert,  coldly,  "  that  your  lover  was  right 
in  distrusting  you.  But,"  he  added,  disengaging  himself 
from  Soleil-Couchant's  embrace,  "  this  is  no  time  for  such 
folly.  The  time  and  the  place  are  poorly  chosen.  We 
have  serious  things  to  talk  about.  Sit  down  and  hide  noth- 
ing from  me,  or  I  swear  to  you,  despite  your  charming  cajol- 
ery, you  are  lost.  It  rests  with  you,  with  you  alone,  to  see 
Langlade,  in  half  an  hour,  in  the  waiting  room,  behind  a 
grating,  or  to  be  shut  up  with  him  alone  in  this  cell." 

This  latter  prospect  made  Soleil-Couchant  shiver,  and 
she  became  grave  at  once.  She  sat  down  upon  the  straw 
bed,  arranged  a  little  her  disordered  hair,  and  waited  for 
Vibert  to  question  her. 


VILL 

Vibert  this  time  used  no  circumlocution.  He  went 
straight  to  the  point. 

"A  young  man,"  he  said  to  Soleil-Couchant,  who  lis- 
tened to  him  with  the  greatest  attention,  "  was  murdered 

13 


194  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

this  winter  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  quite  near  the  Rue 
Neuve-Saint-Augustin,  -where  you  were  living  then  with 
Langlade;  what  details  can  you  give  me  in  regard  to 
this  as  yet  unpunished  murder?" 

"  But  how  does  it  happen — " 

"That  I  come  to  you  for  information?  Nothing  could 
be  simpler.  This  morning,  Langlade,in  a  state  of  drunk- 
enness and  excitement,  confessed  to  me  his  crime." 

"Well?"  said  Soleil-Couchant. 

"  That  is  not  sufficient,"  said  Vibert.  "  Justice  needs 
details  and  proofs;  I  have  come  to  ask  you  for  them." 

"  Question  me,"  said  Soleil-Couchant.  "  I  will  answef 
you." 

"How  long  did  you  know  the  person  murdered  by 
Langlade?" 

"  Two  days." 

"You  had  never  seen  him  before?" 

"  Never." 

"  Where  did  you  meet  him?  " 

"  Upon  the  Boulevards,  near  the  Rue  Vivienne,  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon." 

"  Near  the  Rue  Vivienne,  you  say?  He  was  coming 
from  the  Bourse,  probably." 

"  I  thought  so." 

"  He  noticed  you  at  once?  " 

"  No,  it  was  I  who  noticed  him ;  I  thought  him  a  hand- 
some fellow.  You  see,  I  went  out  so  rarely,  and  I  was  so 
often  shut  up  with  Langlade,  that  all  men  seemed  hand- 
some to  me,  little  men  especially." 

"The  person  of  whom  you  speak  was  a  small  man, 
then?" 

"  Of  medium  height." 

"  What  did  you  do  then?" 

"  I  tried  to  attract  his  attention,"  she  answered,  naively." 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PALX.  195 

"  In  what  way?" 

"  By  looking  around  as  often  as  possible,  by  stopping 
at  all  the  shop  windows,  by  raising  my  dress  a  little  to 
show  my  foot,  by  the  thousand-and-one  little  manoeuvres 
known  to  coquettes." 

"And  did  this  coquetry  succeed?" 

"Yes;  after  a  moment  or  two  my  unknown  followed 
me.  Then  I  left  the  Boulevard  and  took  the  Rue  de 
Choiseul,  and  stopped  before  my  door.  He  advanced, 
raised  his  hat  very  politely  and  told  me  that  I  was  very 
pretty.  I  tried  to  blush  and  answered  with  the  words 
always  employed  on  such  occasions:  '  What  do  you  take 
me  for,  Monsieur?'  'For  a  duchess,  Madame,'  he  an- 
swered, smiling,  '  and  if  you  will  permit  me  to  make  your 
acquaintance — '  I  did  not  wish  to  be  too  severe,  so  I 
gave  him  my  name  and  the  permission  to  come  and  see 
me  the  next  day  at  an  hour  when  I  should  be  alone.  He 
was  punctual.  Langlade,  who  I  thought  was  busy  that 
day  outside  of  Paris,  returned  unexpectedly.  You  know 
the  rest,  since  he  has  confessed  all  to  you." 

"At  what  time  did  Langlade  return?" 

"  It  must  have  been  about  nine  o'clock,"  she  replied. 

"  Did  he  not  say  to  you,  on  entering,  these  words:  '  I 
have  killed  your  lover'  ?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  you  respond?" 

"  Nothing.  That  evening  he  would  have  killed  me  as 
he  had  killed  the  other.  He  was  in  a  frightful  state  of 
excitement.     I  never  saw  him  half  so  terrible." 

"  His  hands  were  doubtless  stained  with  blood." 

"  No,  and  I  was  surprised  at  that." 

"Nothing  is  more  easily  explained,"  said  Vibert. 
"  Blood  does  not  always  flow  immediately  from  a  wound, 
and  Langlade  fled  at  once  after  committing  the  crime. 


196  FEDORA  :   OB,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Since  then,  have  you  ever  reproached  him  for  the 
murder?" 

"  No,  I  did  not  dare  to,"  replied  Soleil-Couchant.  "  I 
have  told  you,  Monsieur,  that  I  am  always  like  a  leaf 
before  that  man." 

"Did  he  ever  speak  of  it  again  to  you?" 

"  Never." 

"  Do  you  recall  the  precise  date  of  this  event?  " 

"  It  was  the  last  of  October  or  the  first  of  November." 

"  I  asked  you  for  the  precise  date." 

"  I  do  not  know  it,  Monsieur." 

"  And  yet  it  was  an  epoch  in  your  life." 

"Doubtless;  but  I  have  always  lived  very  carelessly, 
and  not  paid  much  attention  to  the  day  of  the  month." 

"  Do  you  know  the  name  of  the  person  whom  you 
received  at  your  house?" 

"  I  did  not  think  of  asking  him  his  name." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  his  first  name?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  At  all  events,  I  don't  remember  it," 
she  answered. 

"  Describe  this  young  man  as  exactly  as  you  can." 

"  He  was  of  medium  height,  as  I  have  already  told  you, 
and  he  wore  a  mustache." 

She  stopped,  seemed  to  be  trying  to  remember,  and  then 
said: 

"  Yes,  that  is  all.  I  don't  recollect  anything  more.  It 
was  nearly  three  months  ago,  you  see." 

"  Do  you  think  that  he  was  married?  "  asked  the  agent 
of  police. 

"  Possibly.  He  had  not  a  very  confident  air  when  he 
entered.     He  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  being  seen." 

"How  was  he  dressed?" 

"Like  every  one  else.  I  think,  though,  that  he  wore  a 
dark  overcoat." 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PJLIX.  197 

"Exactly,"  said  Vibert.  "He  did  not  happen  to 
take  anything  out  of  his  pocket  while  he  was  with  you, 
did  he?" 

"  Yes,  his  pocket  book.  He  wished  to  offer  me,  he 
said,  a  remembrance;  but  I  refused;  I  am  not  a  mercenary 
woman." 

"What  sort  of  a  pocket  book  was  it?  Reflect  well 
before  answering." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Stephanie  after  a  moment,  "  that 
it  was  not  exactly  a  pocket  book.     It  was  rather — " 

"  A  memorandum  book?"  asked  Vibert. 

"  Yes;  one  of  those  memorandum  books  with  elastic 
about  them." 

" Do  you  remember  its  color?" 

"  Oh,  yes!  it  was  red." 

"  There  is  no  longer  a  doubt,"  thought  the  agent  of 
police;  "this  information  is  incomplete,  but  it  is  very 
precise." 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  what  I  have  told  you?"  she 
asked,  timidly,  still  trying  to  approach  Vibert. 

"  Satisfied,  I?"  he  said,  gruffly.  "  Not  the  least  in  the 
world.  I  did  not  want  Langlade  to  be  proven  guilty  of 
this  crime ;  but  now  that  he  is —  Duty  before  all !  "  he 
added,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  have  no  more  to  ask  you,  just  now,"  he  continued, 
rising;  "  my  visit  is  ended.     Good-bye!  " 

"What!  shan't  1  see  you  again?" 

"  Perhaps.     I  don't  know." 

She  threw  her  arms  about  him,  without  his  being  able 
to  prevent  it,  and  said,  in  a  beseeching  voice: 

"  Ah  !  please  come  back  !  " 

"  Queer  girl ! "  thought  the  agent  of  police.  "  If  I 
wished,  I  could  succeed  Langlade;  I,  Vibert!  Well, 
perhaps  it  would  be  better." 


198     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

He  gently  unloosed  her  arms,  and  pushing  her  away 
from  him,  said  aloud: 

"  My  good  friend,  prepare  to  see  your  dear  Langlade. 
Within  half  an  hour  you  will  be  conducted  to  the  waiting 
room." 

Tiiese  words  produced  upon  the  tender  Stephanie  the 
effect  of  a  dash  of  cold  water;  she  recoiled,  exclaiming: 
"You  swear  to  me  that  a  grating  shall  separate  us?" 

"  I  swear  it !      Good-bye,"  he  said,  opening  the  door. 

"  Good-bye  !  "  she  replied,  sadly. 

When  she  was  left  alone  in  her  cell,  she  commenced 
again  to  play  with  her  hair,  like  a  child.  It  was  in  this 
way  that  she  prepared  to  meet  her  lover  again. 


IX. 

Two  turnkeys  of  the  Conciergerie  conducted  Lang- 
lade to  the  waiting  room,  where  at  this  moment  there 
were  no  visitors. 

As  had  been  arranged  between  the  agent  of  police  and 
the  convict,  the  latter's  handcuffs  were  removed. 

Langlade  was  apparently  perfectly  calm;  during  his 
progress  from  the  cell  to  the  waiting  room,  he  had  ap- 
peared indifferent  to  all  about  him  and  had  answered 
quietly  the  questions  addressed  to  him. 

One  of  the  turnkeys,  the  youngest,  remarked  to  his 
companion  : 

"  He  has  been  slandered;  he  is  a  lamb." 

"Wait  and  see;  there  maybe  something  beneath  all 
this,"  responded  the  second  turnkey,  an  old  prison  em- 
ploye, accustomed  to  these  sudden  lulls  frequently  noticed 
in  the  boldest  and  most  violent  men,  and  which  are  gen- 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  199 

erally  followed  by  terrible  reactions.  The  old  turnkey 
was  not  mistaken;  the  reaction  came. 

"By  what  door  will  she  enter?"  suddenly  asked 
Langlade,  who  was  seated  in  a  corner  on  one  of  the 
benches  with  which  the  room  was  furnished. 

They  pointed  out  to  him  a  door  on  the  other  side  of  the 
grating  which  divided  the  waiting  room  in  two. 

The  convict  threw  back  his  head  quickly  with  clenched 
teeth  and  dilated  nostrils.  He  began  to  suspect  some- 
thing. 

"  If  she  enters  there,"  lie  said,  in  an  unsteady  voice, 
*  how  can  she  join  me?  " 

"  She  will  not  join  you,"  said  the  young  turnkey. 

"Oh!  she  will  not  join  me!  "  he  repeated. 

"  You  can  go  as  near  as  you  please  to  that  grating  and 
say  to  her  whatever  you  like,"  said  the  other  jailor, 
gently,  who  perceived  the  contraction  of  Langlade's  feat- 
ures and  wished  to  appease  him. 

"  Then  I  have  been  deceived  ! "  cried  the  convict, 
with  a  burst  of  anger. 

"  You  were  told  that  you  should  see  her,  and  you  are 
about  to  do  so." 

"  I  have  been  deceived,  I  tell  you,"  he  repeated,  still 
more  violently.  "  She  was  to  be  near  me,  by  my  side. 
No  grating  was  to  separate  us.  This  is  infamous.  My 
trust  has  been  abused  !  If  I  had  known,  I  would  never 
have  given  myself  up;  I  would  have  defended  myself.  I 
would  have  killed  that  miserable  devil  !  I  would  have 
killed  you  all,  scum  that  you  are  !  " 

He  rushed  toward  the  old  turnkey,  who  with  his  bunch 
of  keys  in  his  hand,  awaited  him  unflinchingly. 

"  I  wish  to  be  close  to  her,"  he  cried,  "  I  wish  her  to  be 
brought  here  to  this  part  of  the  room,  or  else  let  me  go  on 
the  other  side." 


200     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  My  orders  are  precise,"  responded  the  jailor;  •"  what 
you  ask  is  impossible." 

"  Oh,  it  is,  is  it? "  vociferated  Langlade.  "  Then,  I 
have  not  submitted.  You  have  not  arrested  me.  Nothing 
is  done.  You  have  got  to  commence  over  again."  With 
one  hand  he  detached  from  the  wail,  to  which  it  was 
fastened,  a  wooden  bench;  he  seized  two  stools,  three 
cane-bottomed  chairs,  and  a  little  table,  hurled  them  into 
a  corner  of  the  room,  made  a  club  of  one  of  the  legs  of 
the  table,  backed  up  against  the  wall  behind  the  sort  of 
barricade  he  had  improvised,  and  cried  out  in  a  terrible 
voice,  brandishing  his  club  about  his  head: 

"  Come  on,  then  !  " 

"  Help  ! "  cried  the  young  turnkey,  edging  away  pru- 
dently toward  the  door,  while  his  companion,  a  man  noted 
for  his  bravery,  remained  firmly  at  his  post  and  regarded 
Langlade  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

The  man's  calmness  exasperated  Langlade  beyond 
bounds;  he  leaped  over  the  barricade  and  advanced 
straight  toward  him. 

Then  the  jailor  saw  that  he  was  uselessly  exposing  him- 
self to  danger.  With  his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  adversary, 
holding  in  one  hand  his  bunch  of  keys  to  parry  the  blows 
of  the  club,  with  the  other  hand  stroking  his  big  gray  mous- 
tache, he  stepped  quickly  backward,  without  uttering  a 
cry  or  calling  for  aid. 

When  he  reached  the  door,  which  had  remained  open 
since  his  colleague's  flight,  he  leaped  backward,  just  as 
Langlade  was  close  upon  him,  and  shut  the  door  in  the 
latter's  face.     The  convict  was  left  alone. 

During  this  time  the  file  of  soldiers,  which  is  always  kept 
in  all  State  prisons,  had  taken  their  arms  and  marched 
toward  the  waiting  room.  It  was  evident  that  a  terrible 
struggle  must  take  place;  the  convict  in  the  end  would 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  201 

be  obliged  to  yield  to  the  force  of  numbers,  but  not  before 
he  had  vigorously  defended  himself.  In  his  mighty 
hands,  any  sort  of  weapon  would  deal  death.  Nothing 
prevented  him,  moreover,  from  throwing  himself  upon  the 
first  soldier  who  should  appear,  wresting  his  gun  from 
him,  leaping  behind  the  barricade  and  keeping  the  en- 
emy at  bay  for  a  long  time. 

The  soldiers,  led  by  the  two  turnkeys,  had  arrived  before 
the  door  of  the  waiting  room  and  were  about  to  enter, 
when  suddenly  Vibert  appeared. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  Conciergerie  to  go  to  the  Palais 
de  Justice  to  speak  to  M.  Gourbet,  the  examining  magis- 
trate, he  had  heard  an  unusual  noise,  and  on  inquiring 
the  cause  of  it,  he  had  been  informed  of  what  had  oc- 
curred. 

"I  expected  it,"  he  said  to  himself;  "it  is  my  fault, 
after  all.  Langlade  certainly  has  a  right  to  complain ;  I 
have  not  strictly  kept  my  word.  It  is  my  duty,  perhaps, 
to  repair  the  evil  I  have  done,  and  to  prevent  the  shed- 
ding of  blood,  even  at  the  cost  of  my  own." 

Brave  and  resolute,  as  we  know  him,  he  did  not  hesitate 
long.  He  joined  the  soldiers,  and  placing  himself  before 
the  door  which  they  were  about  to  open, 

"  Don't  go  in,"  he  said  to  them.  "  I  will  take  care  of 
this  business." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  asked  the  old  jailor,  who 
knew  Vibert. 

"  I  don't  know.  But  send  away  the  soldiers,  please. 
There  is  no  need  for  them  to  be  killed  by  this  madman. 
I  have  already  tamed  him  once  this  morning;  perhaps  I 
can  do  it  again.  We  can  at  any  time  call  upon  the  sol- 
diers for  aid,  and  you  know  your  chiefs  will  be  glad  to 
avoid  violence." 

"  Certainly,  I  have  always  been  told  to  use  mildness  as 


202     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

much  as  possible.  But  you  don't  know  what  a  state  the 
scoundrel  is  in.     You  will  never  subdue  him." 

"I  can  try,  at  all  events." 

"  You  risk  your  life." 

"  That  is  better  than  risking  yours  and  those  of  these 
brave  men,"  responded  Vibert. 

"  As  you  please,  Monsieur.     Shall  I  enter  with  you?" 

"  No,  my  friend,  there  is  no  need  of  that.  Lion-tamers 
never  allow  a  guest  in  the  cage  of  the  wihi  beasts;  there 
is  no  use  in  exciting  their  appetites!  " 

"  Then  I  shall  remain  here  to  lend  you  aid,  in  case  of 
need." 

"  Do  as  you  like  about  that." 

As  he  spoke,  Vibert  opened  the  door  and  entered  the 
waiting  room. 

Langlade,  who  had  heard  the  sound  of  voices  and  the 
rattle  of  the  guns,  had  expected  to  be  attacked  and  had 
ensconced  himself  behind  the  barricade.  When  he  per- 
ceived Vibert,  his  anger  became  madness.  With  a  bound 
he  leaped  upon  the  agent  of  police,  grasped  him  in  his 
arms,  and  threw  him  like  a  ball  ten  feet  away. 

Vibert  fell  upon  his  knees,  rose,  brushed  the  dust  from 
his  trousers,  for  in  the  gravest  circumstances  he  was 
always  a  neat  man,  and  without  waiting  for  Langlade  to 
return  to  the  attack,  marched  up  to  him  with  folded  arms 
and  said: 

"You  are  a  coward! " 

"  And  you  are  a  traitor!  "  cried  the  convict. 

"Why  am  I  a  traitor?"  asked  Vibert,  without  lowering 
his  voice. 

"  You  promised  that  I  should  see  her,  and  I  have  not 
seen  her." 

"  She  is  there,  behind  that  door;  they  are  waiting  for 
you  to  be  calmer,  before  admitting  her." 


IN  THE  KtJE  DE  LA  PA IX.  203 

"  But  I  shall  see  her  behind  that  grating.  This  is  not 
what  you  promised  me." 

"  I  promised  you  nothing  in  regard  to  this;  you  can  not 
say  that  I  promised  she  should  be  close  to  you." 

"  We  did  not  speak  of  that,  but — ' 

"  You  should  have  spoken  of  it,  then,  in  making  your 
conditions.  I  can  not  guess  what  you  desire.  As  for 
my  promises,  I  have  kept  them  all  religiously.  You  asked 
me  to  have  your  handcuffs  removed,  and  they  have  been 
removed.  I  am  the  victim  of  my  kindness  to  you.  If 
you  had  not  had  the  use  of  your  hands  you  could  not 
have  ravaged  this  room  as  you  have,  nor  behaved  like  a 
coward  toward  me." 

"Like  a  coward!  "  repeated  Langlade. 

"Yes,  like  a  coward!  I  am  little,  you  are  big;  I  am 
weak,  you  are  strong;  I  enter  here  alone  and  unarmed, 
to  avoid  a  sanguinary  struggle  in  which  you  would  have 
finally  got  the  worst  of  it,  and  you  dash  upon  me  like  a 
wild  beast.  You  would  have  increased  your  chances  of 
obtaining  your  desires  very  much  if  you  had  killed  me, 
>s  well  as  two  or  three  poor  fellows  in  the  execution  of 
their  duty." 

"Will  they  bring  Soleil-Couchant  here?"  asked  Lang- 
lade, a  little  more  calmly.  "  Shall  I  see  her  without  a 
grating  between  us?" 

"No;  you  will  see  her  and  speak  to  her  through  that 
grating.     It  was  she  herself  who  has  demanded  it." 

"Ah!  she!     Why?" 

"  Because  she  is  afraid  to  be  too  near  you,  probably. 
You  can  not  be  surprised  at  that." 

"  Then,  if  she  is  afraid,  she  must  feel  she  has  wronged 
me?" 

"  Of  course;  but  that  is  no  reason  why  she  should  want 
to  be  killed." 


204  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE   TRAGEDY 

"  Suppose  I  promise  not  to  kill  her?  " 

"  You  can  not  answer  for  yourself,  you  are  too  violent. 
A  word,  a  gesture,  is  enough  to  put  you  in  a  passion.  You 
even  strike  those  who  have  said  nothing  and  done  nothing 
to  you." 

"  Pardon  me!  "  growled  the  convict. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  pardon  you;  but  the  director  of  the  Con- 
ciergerie  may  not  pardon  you  for  having  troubled  the 
usual  quiet  of  the  prison,  for  having  committed  acts  of 
violence  and  threatened  the  jailors." 

"What  can  he  do  to  me?" 

"  He  can,"  replied  Vibert  adroitly,  in  order  to  frighten 
Langlade,  and  to  appear  afterward  to  make  concessions 
to  him,  "  he  can  take  no  further  notice  of  the  request  I 
have  made  to  him,  and  not  allow  you  to  see  Soleil-Cou- 
chant,  even  behind  that  grating." 

"Oh!"  cried  Langlade. 

He  had  not  thought  for  a  moment  of  this  sort  of  pun- 
ishment, which  frightened  him  more  than  handcuffs,  the 
strait-jacket  and  the  dark  cell. 

"  There,"  said  the  agent  of  police,  "  that  is  what  you 
have  gained  by  indulging  in  a  fit  of  passion.  It  was  by 
your  continual  violence,  moreover,  that  you  alienated 
Soleil-Couchant's  heart.     She  loved  you  once." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  softly,  "  she  loved  me  once." 

"  Now,  she  is  afraid  of  you." 

"  Listen,"  said  the  convict,  trying  to  take  Vibert's 
hand;  "if  you  persuade  the  director  to  let  me  see  her,  I 
promise  you  to  put  everything  back  in  its  place,  to  beg 
the  jailor's  pardon,  and  to  be  as  calm  as  I  was  excited." 

"  I  am  willing  to  make  that  bargain,  but  everything 
must  take  place  as  it  was  arranged  in  the  first  place;  you 
will  remain  here,  and  Soleil-Couchant  will  enter  from  that 
side;  this  is  absolute." 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  205 

"  Very  well;  I  don't  need  to  be  near  her.  I  no  longer 
wish  to  kill  her;  my  anger  is  over." 

"  Yes,  it  was  vented  on  me,"  observed  Vibert,  "  and  I 
am  much  obliged  to  you;  my  knees  are  all  barked  and 
bleeding." 

"Shall  I  bathe  them  for  you?"  asked  the  convict, 
meekly. 

"  No,  thanks ;  I  have  no  time  to  take  care  of  myself. 
Come,  put  everything  in  order  here,  while  I  go  to  the 
director,  and  remember  in  your  turn  what  you  have 
promised." 

Vibert  left  the  room,  and  found  outside  the  door  the 
turnkeys,  who  were  astonished  to  see  him  in  such  good 
trim. 

"  He  is  quieted  down,"  he  said  to  them.  "  If  Soleil- 
Couchant  does  not  provoke  him  too  much,  he  will  be  quiet 
now  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Nervous  men  are  always  in 
one  extreme  or  another:  after  the  tempest,  the  calm;  they 
do  not  know  how  to  preserve  a  just  medium.  Let  him 
see  his  mistress,  please,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  old 
jailor,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred;  "  this  evening  he  will  be 
taken  to  another  prison,  and  you  will  be  rid  of  him.  No 
one  has  any  real  cause  for  complaint,  except  the  table,  one 
of  whose  legs  Langlade  broke  off,  and  I,  whose  knees  are 
hurt,  and  we  shall  not  complain." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward,  Soleil-Couchant,  con- 
ducted by  one  of  the  jailors,  entered  the  waiting  room  and 
prudently  seated  herself  as  far  as  possible  from  the  grating 
which  separated  her  from  her  dear  Langlade. 

But  he,  on  the  contrary,  when  he  saw  her,  approached 
the  grating,  put  his  face  between  the  bars  and  contem- 
plated his  mistress.  For  a  moment  his  expression  was 
harsh  and  full  of  hate,  then  it  changed  and  softened.  His 
eyes  became  tender.     Ihe  sort  of  magnetism  which  is 


206  FEDOBA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

always  exercised  by  the  woman  one  loves  produced  its 
effect.  The  convict  had  boasted  when  he  swore  to  kill 
Soleil-Couchant;  he  would  never  have  had  the  courage. 
One  look  from  his  mistress  would  have  arrested  his  hand, 
raised  to  strike. 

He  did  not  say  a  word,  but  continued  to  regard  her. 
She,  who  had  expected  reproaches  and  insults,  was  com- 
pletely taken  aback;  she  feared  that  Langlade  was  med- 
itating some  dark  plot;  she  cast  anxious  looks  about  her 
with  a  frightened  air,  wondering  if  the  grating  would  not 
give  way  and  let  him  through. 

"  You  are  afraid  of  me,  then,"  said  Langlade,  gently. 

"  Bah  ! "  responded  Soleil-Couchant,  "  I  ought  to  be  ; 
you  have  treated  me  like  a  brute  ever  since  I  knew  you." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  being  angry  with  me,"  he  re- 
plied, sadly.  "  I  was  jealous  and  violent  because  I  loved 
you." 

"Yes,  I  know  that  excuse,"  she  exclaimed,  harshly. 
"  When  you  men  have  said  to  a  woman,  "  I  love  you," 
you  think  that  is  all  that  is  necessary.  The  more  you 
injure  her,  the  more  you  make  her  suffer,  the  more  she 
ought  to  rejoice.  Y.our  insults  and  your  blows  are  so 
many  proofs  of  love.  Good  Heavens  !  love  us  a  little 
less,  then.  We  don't  want  a  love  which  renders  existence 
intolerable." 

"  So,"  he  said,  still  in  the  same  tone,  "  you  were  un- 
happy with  me?  " 

"  Very  unhappy;  since  you  ask  me,  I  don't  fear  to  ac- 
knowledge it." 

"  Oh,  fear  nothing,"  he  said;  "  behind  these  bars,  I  am 
not  very  terrible." 

"  This  is  the  first  time,  indeed,  that  I  can  speak  to  you 
without  trembling." 

"  Speak,  then ;  speak  your  whole  mind." 


IN  THE  BTTE  DE  LA  PAIX.  207 

Any  other  woman  than  Soleil-Couchant  would  have 
been  moved,  perhaps,  by  so  much  gentleness.  There 
was,  in  fact,  something  touching  in  the  submissive  and 
resigned  attitude  of  this  strong,  indomitable,  tyrannical 
man.  But  the  qualities  of  pity  and  compassion  were  not 
very  much  developed  in  Soleil-Couchant's  heart;  one 
can't  have  everything.  Moreover,  as  we  have  said,  she 
had  nourished  for  five  years  a  bitter  hatred  against  this 
being  whom  she  had  constantly  tried  to  free  herself  from, 
but  without  success.  She  had  a  thousand  injuries,  a 
thousand  sufferings,  to  pay  him  back.  He  was  at  last  in 
her  power,  and  she  could  revenge  herself  without  fear 
of  the  consequences;  she  was  not  a  woman  to  deprive 
herself  of  such  a  pleasure. 

She  did  speak  her  mind,  as  Langlade  had  suggested; 
she  spoke  it  fully  and  completely.  She  did  not  spare  her 
lover  any  complaint,  any  reproach;  she  threw  in  his  face 
all  her  grievances.  She  gave  him  back  in  one  hour  all 
the  insults  she  had  received  during  five  years.  She  heaped 
up  outrages  upon  him  as  he  had  upon  her.  Instead  of 
blows,  which  she  could  not  give  him,  she  lacerated  him 
with  bitter  words.  It  was  a  complete  and  furious  revolt. 
The  slave  threw  off  her  yoke,  the  prisoner  broke  her 
bonds.  As  a  vindictive,  red-haired  woman,  Soleil-Cou- 
chant was  implacable. 

He  listened  to  her  without  interruption.  Finally,  when 
she  had  finished  her  tirade,  he  said  only  these  words: 

"  Then  you  no  longer  love  me?" 

"  I  have  never  loved  you,"  she  cried.  "  I  feared  you, 
that  was  all." 

He  lowered  his  head  on  his  breast,  and  after  a  moment's 
silence,  said: 

"  If  I  should  escape  from  prison,  would  you  take  me 
back?" 


208  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"  Never! "  she  exclaimed,  emphatically.  "  Don't  hope 
it !  It  is  over,  entirely  over.  I  don't  wish  to  live  as  I 
have  lived.  I  wish  to  profit  by  what  youth  and  beauty 
remain  to  me;  to  satisfy  my  caprices,  without  fear  or 
trembling.     I  wish  to  be  free  once  more  !  " 

Each  of  these  words  struck  Langlade  to  the  heart,  but 
he  only  answered: 

"  There  are  many  things  I  would  like  to  say  to  you, 
but  I  don't  know  how  to  say  them." 

"  No,  you  only  know  how  to  strike,"  she  said,  cruelly. 

"  Oh  !  I  also  know  how  to  suffer,"  he  replied. 

The  bright  color  he  usually  had,  had  faded  from  his  face 
and  he  was  very  pale;  Stephanie  glanced  at  him  and  re- 
coiled in  fear.  But  he  continued  with  the  same  gentle- 
ness: 

"  Then  if  I  should  return,  as  I  have  already  done — " 

She  interrupted  him,  exclaiming: 

"  You  would  never  discover  my  retreat." 

"  This  is  the  last  time,  then,  that  I  shall  see  you?" 

"Yes,  the  last" 

"In  a  few  days  you  will  be  free;  I  shall  remain  in 
prison.  You  will  not  ask  for  permission  to  come  and  see 
me  once  in  awhile?" 

"  Never ! " 

"It  was  for  you,  however,  that  I  committed  my  crimes; 
if  I  had  not  loved  you,  I  should  never  have  been  sent  to 
prison,  I  should  not  be  here  now." 

"  You  were  not  obliged  to  love  me!  I  never  asked  you 
to;  quite  the  contrary." 

"  And,"  he  continued,  still  gently,  "  if,  instead  of  being 
sent  to  prison,  I  should  be  condemned  to  death,  because 
of  the  other — you  know,  the  other  whom  I  killed  because 
he  was  your  lover — would  you  come  to  bid  me  a  last 
farewell?  " 


LANGLADE   AND  SOLIEL-COUCHANT  IN  PRISON.      PAGE   210. 


IN  THE  KUE   DE  LA   PALX.  209 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"  Wretch  !  "  he  cried,  suddenly,  and  seizing  the  grating 
with  both  hands,  he  tried  to  break  the  bars.  Not  being 
able  to  succeed,  however,  he  then  attempted  to  pull  them 
out  of  the  sockets  with  his  knees,  his  feet,  his  head,  his 
teeth.  He  uttered  savage  cries;  his  eyes  were  bloodshot 
and  his  lips  covered  with  foam. 

Stephanie's  first  movement,  at  this  sudden  explosion  of 
rage,  was  to  draw  back  to  the  farther  end  of  the  room. 
But  when  she  saw  that  Langlade,  despite  his  prodigious 
strength,  was  powerless  to  break  a  single  one  of  the 
bars  which  separated  them,  she  approached  the  grating 
again. 

"  Ah!  how  you  would  like  to  get  at  me,  wouldn't  you?  " 
she  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  How  you  would  kill  me  without 
pity!  But  I  am  out  of  your  reach,  beyond  your  touch; 
you  can  do  nothing  to  me.  I  am  no  longer  your  slave, 
your  dog  !  Come!  don't  tire  yourself  out  for  nothing, 
giant  of  my  heart !  You  see  you  will  never  succeed  ! 
You  know  you  are  beaten  !  " 

This  cruel  bravado  and  biting  sarcasm,  instead  of  exas- 
perating Langlade  the  more,  restored  him  to  reason.  A 
minute  before,  cries  and  inarticulate  sounds  alone  escaped 
from  his  parched  throat;  now  he  could  speak.  He  ceased 
to  shake  the  bars  of  the  grating,  folded  his  arms,  and 
with  a  terrible  look  at  his  mistress,  exclaimed: 

"  What!  you  dare  to  insult  me !  You,  who  would  crouch 
at  my  feet  and  beg  for  mercy,  if  this  grating  were  not 
between  us  !  And  it  is  you  whom  I  have  loved,  you  who 
have  made  me  what  I  am  !  It  is  for  such  a  miserable 
creature,  that  I  am  for  the  third  time  in  prison,  and  per- 
haps will  lose  my  head  upon  the  scaffold  !  And  yet,  this 
tyrant,  of  whom  you  complain  and  whom  you  hate,  you 
might  have  softened  by  a  few  kind  words  and  a  little  love; 
14 


210     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

but  you  made  of  him  a  thief  and  an  assassin!  You  might 
have  made  of  him  an  honest  man;  yes,  an  honest  man! 
What  did  I  need  to  be  happy?  To  see  you,  to  be  near 
you,  to  breathe  the  same  air  as  you  !  But  you  wanted 
dresses,  money,  luxury!  My  wages  were  not  sufficient 
for  you;  I  stole,  to  satisfy  more  quickly  your  caprices,  to 
prevent  you  from  leaving  me,  and  flying  to  the  arms  of 
another  lover!  Ah!  lovers!  You  speak  of  having  them ! " 
he  continued,  becoming  furious  at  the  very  thought; 
"  take  care  of  them,  take  care  of  yourself !  I  will  kill 
them  as  I  killed  the  other!  Don't  laugh,  coward  that  you 
are!  You  think  I  am  powerless,  and  you  brave  me;  but 
my  turn  will  come!  I  shall  know  how  to  reach  you  and 
to  crush  your  body,  as  you  have  crushed  my  heart!  Yes! 
they  may  send  me  to  the  galleys,  I  shall  escape;  place 
irons  on  my  hands  and  feet,  I  shall  break  them;  send  me 
to  the  scaffold,  I  shall  leap  down  to  join  you  and  to 
kill  you!" 

"  Fool !  "  said  Stephanie,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders. 
"You  speak  of  breaking  your  irons  and  you  can  not 
break  one  of  the  bars  of  that  grating.  Ah!  you  have 
deceived  me ;  I  thought  you  were  strong,  and  you  are  not 
even  that ! " 

This  last  outrage  doubtless  gave  Langlade  superhuman 
strength  and  vigor.  He  seized  one  of  the  bars  in  both 
hands,  gave  it  a  terrible  shake,  and  the  bar  bent  and 
snapped  in  two. 

Soleil-Couchant  uttered  a  frightful  cry. 

Another  effort  like  that  and  Langlade  could  reach  her. 
But  human  strength  has  its  limits;  Langlade,  since  the 
morning,  had  passed  through  too  many  trials,  had  ex- 
perienced too  many  cruel  emotions;  the  blood  mounted 
suddenly  to  his  brain,  lie  staggered,  dropped  his  hold  on 
the  bar,  and  fell  heavily  to  the  ground. 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  211 


"While  this  scene  was  taking  place  at  the  Conciergerie 
Vibert  made  his  way  to  the  Palais  de  Justice  and  asked 
if  M.  Gourbet  would  see  him. 

Cordier,  the  little  thin  man  whom  our  readers  perhaps 
remember  as  M.  Gourbet's  clerk,  came  to  inquire  what 
Vibert  desired. 

"  I  would  like,"  said  the  agent  of  police,  "  to  speak  to 
M.  Gourbet  in  regard  to  the  assassination  in  the  Rue  de 
la  Paix." 

"Ah!  you  bring  us  news,"  said  Cordier,  rubbing  his 
hands. 

"  Possibly." 

"Good  news?" 

"You  shall  see." 

"  Wait  a  few  minutes,  then.  M.  Gourbet  is  engaged 
with  an  important  matter;  when  he  is  at  liberty  I  will  tell 
him  that  you  are  here,  and  I  think  he  will  see  you." 

"  I  will  wait,"  said  the  agent  of  police. 

The  little  man  glided  away,  rather  than  walked,  in  his 
usual  manner. 

When,  half  an  hour  afterward,  Vibert  was  ushered 
into  the  magistrate's  office,  the  first  words  M.  Gourbet 
addressed  to  him  were  these: 

"  Well,  do  you  bring  proofs?     Is  it  Savari?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur,"  said  Vibert,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  is  not 
he." 

"  What?     You  and  Madame  Vidal  were  so  sure  of  it." 

"  We  were  mistaken,  Monsieur." 

"The  last  time  I  saw  you,  you  declared  that  your 
conviction  grew  stronger  day  by  day." 

"  That  was  true;  it  is  different  now." 


212  FEDOEA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"  You  came  to  ask  me,  I  think,  if  you  could  borrow 
the  knife  with  which  the  murdered  man  was  killed." 

"  It  was  given  to  me." 

"  Did  you  not  intend  to  use  it  for  a  decisive  experi- 
ment?" 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  I  did  so." 

"It  did  not  succeed?" 

"Only  partially." 

"  What  do  you  mean?    Explain  yourself,  please." 

"  I  mean,"  said  Vibert,  "  that  this  experiment  for  a 
moment,  I  confess,  upset  all  my  convictions;  but  since 
then,  after  mature  reflection,  I  again  believed  in  Albert 
Savari's  guilt." 

"He  showed  no  emotion  at  sight  of  the  knife?" 

"  No,  but  that  proved  nothing.  In  a  moment  of  anger 
and  excitement,  he  may  have  snatched  up  the  first  thing 
at  hand;  he  may  have  struck  Maurice  Vidal,  thrown  away 
the  weapon  in  horror,  and  fled.  It  was  possible,  then,  for 
the  sight  of  the  knife  to  recall  nothing  to  him  and  make 
no  impression  upon  him." 

"  But  you  are  too  clever  not  to  have  found  means  of 
mentioning  the  name  of  the  man  killed  by  that  weapon?" 

"  Yes,  I  spoke  of  Maurice  Vidal." 

"Well?" 

"Then  he  was  touched  by  the  fate  of  that  young 
man,  whom  he  had  known;  he  bewailed  his  death,  and 
he  was  bright  enough  to  mingle  his  tears  with  those  of 
the  widow." 

"  You  say,  he  was  bright  enough?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Then,  in  your  opinion,  Albert  Savari  was  playing  a 
part." 

"  No,  Monsieur,  I  alluded  to  something  else." 

"You  admit  that  these  tears  might  be  natural?" 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  I>AIX  213 

"  Certainly." 

"You  think,  then,  that  they  were  caused  by  remorse?" 

"  Possibly." 

(t  All  this  is  more  and  more  vague,  you  must  confess. 
We  are  no  further  advanced  than  we  were  three  months 
ago." 

"  Pardon  me,  Monsieur,  I  bring  you  the  name  of 
Maurice  Vidal's  murderer." 

"What?" 

"  I  know  now  the  assassin  you  seek  for." 

"  Really?"  cried  M.  Gourbet. 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"And  his  name  is?" 

"  Langlade." 

"Langlade?  That  name  is  not  unknown  to  me;  is  it 
not  that  of  a  convict?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  I  have  had  something  to  do  with  that  man ;  he  escaped 
some  time  ago  from  the  galleys  at  Brest;  he  has  been  in 
Paris  for  three  months,  and  the  police  have  been  seeking 
for  him  in  vain." 

"  His  hiding-place  was  discovered  yesterday,  and  I  ar- 
rested him  this  morning.     He  is  now  in  the  Conciergerie." 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  his  arrest." 

Vibert  bowed  his  acknowledgments. 

"  And,"  continued  M.  Gourbet,  "  it  is  Langlade  who 
assassinated  Maurice  Vidal?  What  makes  you  suppose 
that?" 

Vibert  related  to  the  magistrate  the  details  of  the  con 
vict's  arrest,  and  informed  him  of  the  avowals  obtaineo 
from  Soleil-Couchant. 

"Yes,"  said  the  judge,  when  Vibert  had  finished 
speaking,  u  we  have  at  last  found  the  assassin,  thanks  tc 
your  perspicacity." 


214     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"Oh,  Monsieur,"  replied  Vibert,  " don't  speak  of  my 
perspicacity;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  at  fault.  It  was 
chance  alone  which  served  me." 

"  However  that  may  be,  you  must  be  delighted  at  the 
result  obtained." 

"No,  Monsieur." 

"Because  you  suspected  Savari  and  were  mistaken? 
Ah!  your  pride  is  wounded." 

"  If  it  were  only  a  matter  of  my  pride,  I  should  escape 
cheaply,"  murmured  Vibert,  without  M.  Gourbet  hearing 
him.     "  But  it  is  a  more  serious  matter  with  me." 

The  magistrate  turned  to  his  clerk,  and  said: 

"  Monsieur  Cordier,  give  me,  please,  the  report  of 
Albert  Savari's  examination  last  October;  you  must  have 
a  copy  of  it." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,"  said  the  thin  little  man. 

He  glided  up  to  a  long  row  of  green  boxes  placed  upon 
shelves;  he  took  one  without  hesitation,  opened  it  and 
took  out  a  file  which  he  handed  to  the  magistrate.  An 
automaton  could  not  have  executed  the  movement  with 
more  precision. 

After  looking  over  it,  M.  Gourbet  turned  to  Vibert,  and 
said: 

"Langlade  is  guilty;  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it. 
And  yet,  see  how  easily  justice  can  be  misled.  Many  of 
my  colleagues,  most  prudent  and  most  conscientious, 
would  have  found  in  that  examination,  which  I  have  just 
read  carefully  over,  ten  reasons  for  committing  Savari  for 
trial.  I  will  mention  one:  that  note  given  to  Maurice 
Vidal  and  found  in  the  suspected  man's  apartments.  Can 
you  explain  that?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Vibert,  "  if  Savari  paid  it,  as  he  maintains." 

"  But,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  he  could  not  have  paid  it, 
for  he  never  possessed  as  much  as  fifty  thousand  francs." 


m  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  215 

"  Did  he  not  say  that  he  had  won  it  at  different  German 
gambling  places?" 

"And  you  believe  that?" 

"  I  believe  anything  may  happen  in  gambling." 
"  Then  you  no  longer  suspect  him?"  asked  M.  Gourbet. 
"Good  Heavens!  Monsieur,  replied  Vibert,"  "I  go  by 
the  evidence.     What  reason,  moreover,  could  Langlade 
have  for  saying  he  had  murdered  a  man?" 
"  But  he  does  not  give  the  man's  name." 
"  His  mistress  describes  him  well  enough." 
"  Neither  of  them  is  sure  of  the  date  of  the  crime." 
"  They  both  fix  it  near  enough,"  replied  Vibert. 
M.  Gourbet  reflected  a  moment,  and  said: 
"And  those  words  written  in  the  blood  of  the  victim: 
'•The  assassin  is — '?    How  do  you  explain  them,  if  Lang- 
lade committed  the  crime  ?     Maurice  Vidal  could  not  have 
known  this  convict." 

"  This  objection  is  the  most  serious,"  answered  Vibert, 
"  but  I  think  I  can  explain  it.  Before  going  to  prison, 
Langlade  lived  in  Paris,  and  was  well  known  among 
young  men  of  a  certain  class.  They  did  not  shake  hands 
with  him,  they  were  careful  not  to  bow  to  him,  they  did 
not  even  address  a  word  to  him,  for  he  was  always  horri- 
bly vulgar;  but  they  noticed  him  and  they  asked  his 
name,  when  he  appeared  in  public  with  Soleil-Couchant. 
How  could  such  a  couple  fail  to  attract  attention?  He 
a  sort  of  giant,  and  she,  a  magnificent  girl  with  remark- 
able colored  hair.  Langlade  was  for  a  time  a  kind  of 
celebrity,  and  I  remember  one  evening  at  the  theatre, 
a  gallery  boy  called  out  to  him:  'Holloa!  Langlade, 
where  is  your  red-head?'  It  is  not  astonishing,  there- 
fore, Monsieur,"  concluded  Vibert,  "  that  Maurice  Vidal 
recognized  his  murderer,  and  tried  to  denounce  him  to 
justice." 


216  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"Yes,"  answered  the  judge,  "your  explanation  is  a 
natural  one." 

"  Moreover,"  continued  Vibert,  "  it  is  easy  to  sum  up 
all  this  affair  in  two  words.  Was  there  any  other  person 
murdered  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  last  October?  No,  you 
know  it,  Monsieur;  every  one  knows  there  was  not. 
Then  Langlade  is  guilty  and  Savari  is  innocent;  there  is 
no  other  way  out  of  it." 

"I  don't  say  the  contrary,"  responded  M.  Gourbet, 
"  but  we  have  been  in  the  dark  so  long,  that  it  is  allow- 
able to  hesitate  still." 

"  You  will  hesitate  no  more,  Monsieur,  when  you  have 
examined  Langlade  and  his  mistress;  his  mistress  espe- 
cially, for  it  is  possible  that  Langlade  may  refuse  to  answer 
your  questions." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  he  is  not  a  very  obliging  person  at  any  time; 
you  will  be  convinced  of  that  yourself.  Ah!  Savari  gave 
you  less  trouble.  I  would  have  liked  him  to  have  been 
proved  guilty  for  your  sake,  Monsieur,  for  the  sake  of  the 
prosecuting  attorney,  and — for  mine,"  he  added,  in  a  lower 
tone. 

"  Well,"  said  the  magistrate,  rising  to  show  Vibert  that 
it  was  time  for  him  to  retire;  "you  will  not  be  consoled, 
apparently,  for  your  mistake  in  regard  to  Savari." 

"  I  acknowledge  it,  Monsieur,  I  shall  never  be  consoled; 
it  will  be  the  sorrow  of  my  life." 

With  these  words  he  bowed  and  left  the  room. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  VA1X.  217 


XL 

What  has  become  of  Fedora  Vidal  and  Albert  Savari, 
since  the  exigencies  of  our  narrative  compelled  us  to  lose 
sight  of  them? 

The  day  after  the  dinner  at  the  Cafe  Anglais,  Savari 
repaired,  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  to  the  Rue 
de  Grammont. 

"Madame  is  ill,"  said  Marietta;  "she  can  not  receive 
Monsieur." 

After  having  in  vain  implored  to  be  admitted,  Savari 
hastened  to  the  Hotel  des  Princes.  He  wished  at  least  to 
talk  of  Fedora,  since  he  could  not  see  her.  But  the  Count 
de  Rubini,  up  to  this  time  so  communicative  and  gracious, 
had  suddenly  become  ceremonious,  cold  and  reserved. 
Instead  of  replying,  as  usual,  with  long,rambling  speeches 
to  the  slightest  questions,  he  spoke  only  in  monosyllables 
and  said  not  a  word  when  questioned  in  regard  to  his 
cousin's  indisposition. 

We,  who  know  Vibert's  state  of  mind  at  that  moment, 
will  not  be  astonished  at  the  sudden  change  in  his  man- 
ners; but  Savari,  who  was  not  in  the  secret,  as  we  are,  of 
his  old  comrade's  suffering,  was  both  astonished  and 
alarmed.  He  sought  for  the  reason  of  the  Count's  con- 
duct and  he  imagined  he  had  found  it.  "The  fifteen 
days  he  gave  me  to  pay  my  debt  in,"  he  thought, "  has  long 
since  elapsed;  he  thinks,  doubtless,  that  I  have  taken  it 
too  easily;  the  coldness  he  shows  to  me  is  an  indirect 
reproach  and  a  hint  to  pay  up."  As  soon  as  this  idea 
came  to  him,  Savari  had  only  one  thought;  to  pay  as  soon 
as  possible  the  Count  de  Rubini,  who  might  use  his  in- 
fluence to  keep  him  away  from  Madame  Vidal. 

However,  he  did  not  have  the  fourteen  thousand  francs 


218  FEDORA  :   OR,   THE  TRAGEDY 

due,  and  he  knew  no  one  among  his  acquaintances 
who  would  be  disposed  to  lend  them  to  him.  Two 
months  before,  he  would  not  have  hesitated;  he  would 
have  gambled.  Gambling  had  always  been  for  him  a  sort 
of  profession;  in  fact,  his  only  profession.  "  I  have  need 
of  a  hundred  francs,"  he  would  say  to  himself,  "and  I 
haven't  them;  where  shall  I  play  this  evening?  "  But  to- 
day, he  hesitated.  It  was  not  his  last  loss  which  intimi- 
dated him;  he  thought,  on  the  contrary,  that  his  luck  had 
returned.  But  he  had  undergone,  unconsciously,  a  sort  of 
gradual  transformation.  Since  he  had  fallen  in  love  with 
Fedora,  life  appeared  to  him  under  a  new  aspect;  he 
looked  at  certain  things  from  a  more  serious  point  of 
view,  he  was  more  severe  with  himself,  he  was  beginning 
to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  words  honor  and  deli- 
cacy, of  which  hitherto  he  had  only  had  a  vague  idea. 
He  thought  that  it  was  a  sad  thing  to  obtain  always  by 
gambling  what  work  alone  should  give. 

It  is  certain  that  if,  in  his  present  state  of  mind,  he  had 
discovered  any  honest  means  of  making  fourteen  thou- 
sand francs  in  a  short  time,  he  would  not  have  hesitated 
to  avail  himself  of  it.  Unfortunately,  such  means  are 
rare.  Savari,  after  some  further  hesitation  and  with  great 
repugnance,  let  us  say  to  his  credit,  was  compelled  on  a 
certain  evening  to  go  to  Pelagie  d'Ermont's. 

"  She  never  needs  to  be  urged,"  he  thought, "  to  get  up 
a  game.  Perhaps,  even,  there  is  one  going  on  now  at  her 
house.  I  have  twenty-five  louis,  I  have  not  played  for  a 
long  time,  and  I  am  unfortunate  in  love:  excellent  rea- 
sons for  having  rare  good  luck." 

While  reasoning  in  this  manner  he  rang  at  Pelagie's 
door. 

Madame  d'Ermont  herself  opened  it  for  him. 

"Ah!  there  you  are,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand 


IN  THE  KUE  BE  LA  PAIX.  219 

and  drawing  him  into  the  salon.  "  It  is  kind  of  you  to 
come  and  see  me.  You  are  not  like  the  others;  you  do 
not  abandon  your  friends  when  they  are  in  adversity." 

"  Are  you  in  adversity?     Why?  " 

"What !  you  don't  know  what  has  happened  to  me?" 
exclaimed  Pelagie. 

"  I  have  no  idea;  I  have  seen  none  of  the  gang  for  a 
long  time." 

"Haven't  you  read  the  papers?" 

"  The  papers!  What  could  they  have  told  me  in  regard 
to  you?" 

"  That  the  police  made  a  descent  upon  my  house  last 
week,"  responded  Pelagie. 

"Ah!  pooh!" 

"  It  is  true,  just  as  I  tell  you." 

"  But  for  what  reason  ?  Have  you  been  coining  false 
money?" 

"  I  have  allowed  people  to  gamble  here." 

"The  devil!     And  the  police  came  down  on  you?" 

"Right  in  the  middle  of  a  splendid  game  of  baccarat; 
there  were  more  than  ten  thousand  francs  in  gold  and 
bank  notes  upon  the  table." 

"  It  was  well  timed,  then,"  said  Savari,  "  no  one  had 
yet  pocketed  the  money." 

"Unfortunately,  no;  so  they  seized  it." 

"  That  was  unkind." 

"If  they  had  only  been  content  with  seizing  the 
money!"  exclaimed  Madame  d'Ermont.  "But  they 
forced,  in  the  first  place,  all  the  persons  in  the  room  to 
give  their  name  and  occupation." 

"  As  for  their  occupation,"  observed  Savari, "  that  could 
not  have  taken  long." 

"  I  advise  you  not  to  be  sarcastic.  Do  you  know  they 
seized  my  furniture,  too?" 


220  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Savari,  glancing  about  the  room,  "1 
thought  you  had  some  new  furniture." 

"  It  is  some  I  was  obliged  to  hire  yesterday." 

" Had  they  the  right  to  seize  your  furniture?"  inquired 
Savari. 

"Good  Heavens!  yes;  the  code  is  precise  in  that  re- 
spect," responded  Pelagie,  sighing.  "  My  lawyer  read 
me  the  article  which  concerns  me,  article  410  of  the 
penal  code.  I  know  it  almost  by  heart:  'All  the  funds 
which  are  exposed  for  gambling  shall  be  confiscated,  as 
well  as  the  furniture  and  effects  contained  in  the  rooms.' " 

"  Really,"  said  Savari,  trying  to  appear  afflicted,  "  the 
law  does  not  respect  the  most  sacred  things." 

"  And  yet,  if  that  were  all,"  continued  Madame  d'Er- 
mont. 

"What,  that  is  not  all?" 

"  There  is  another  paragraph;  I  know  it  still  better,"  she 
said,  heaving  another  profound  sigh.  "'Any  person  who 
keeps  a  gambling  house  shall  be  punished  by  imprison- 
ment of  at  least  two  and  not  more  than  six  months,  and 
shall  be  liable  to  a  fine  of  from  one  hundred  to  six  thou- 
sand francs!'" 

"  But  you  did  not  keep  a  gambling  house,"  remarked 
Savari. 

"  One  is  considered  to  keep  a  gambling  house,  my  law- 
yer tells  me,  when  gambling  goes  on  there  regularly." 

"  For  the  purpose  of  making  money.  You  did  not  do 
that." 

"  They  consider  the  kitty  you  organized  for  me  in  that 
light.  It  is  a  flagrant  injustice.  Wasn't  it  natural  that 
each  of  you  should  contribute  to  my  expenses?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  The  candles  were  dear,  and  you  used  a  great  number. " 

"Five  or  six  francs' worth  each  evening,"  said  Savari, 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  221 

"and  the  kitty  brought  you  in  at  least  three  or  four 
hundred  francs.     My  dear  friend,  I  pity  your  lot." 

"  So,  my  dear  Albert,"  said  Madame  d'Ermont,  "  I 
shall  have  the  pleasure  of  appearing  in  the  police  court 
within  a  week.  I  am  not  in  jail  now,  because  some  of 
my  influential  friends  have  gone  bail  for  me.  But  I 
shall  be  sentenced,  and  perhaps  to  the  full  penalty  of  the 
law.     That  is  my  position,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"It  is  very  hard." 

"  It  is  frightful,"  said  Pelagie,  with  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes. 

Savari  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  notice  her  tears, 
but  said: 

"How  did  the  police  happen  to  visit  you?  Some  one 
must  have  betrayed  you." 

"Certainly;  but  I  don't  know  who  the  traitor  is." 

"You  received  only  intimate  friends?" 

"  Lately,  no  stranger  has  been  present,  except  that 
Italian  you  met  here,  you  know." 

"Count  deRubini?" 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  it  was  not  he;  he  would  never  have  dreamed  of 
denouncing  you;  he  won  too  much  money  here.  Such 
ideas  only  come  to  players  who  have  lost  and  wish  to  be 
revenged.  Besides,  I  am  very  well  acquainted  with  the 
Count  de  Rubini  now.  He  is  a  queer  fellow,  but  a 
thorough  gentleman." 

"  Then,"  said  Pelagie,  "  one  of  those  ladies  must  have 
done  it." 

"  Probably  your  kitty  excited  some  feminine  jealousy 
and  caused  an  anonymous  letter  to  be  sent  to  the  police. 
That  is  most  likely  the  case;  unless,"  he  added,  smiling, 
"  some  agent  of  police  glided  in  among  us." 

After   having  sympathized    some    time  longer   with 


222  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Pelagie  d'Ermont,  Savari  took  his  leave.  As  she  could 
not  afford  him  an  opportunity  to  play,  he  took  no  further 
interest  in  her. 

Savari's  twenty-five  louis  remained  untouched.  He 
knew  no  other  house  like  that  of  Pelagie's;  and,  besides, 
when  the  police  make  a  descent  on  one  of  those  houses, 
others  of  the  same  sort  take  care  to  remain  hermetically 
closed  for  a  long  time. 

As  for  departing  for  Homburg  or  Baden,  to  try  his 
fortune  there,  Savari  never  once  thought  of  it.  He  had 
not  the  courage  to  place  two  or  three  hundred  leagues 
between  himself  and  Fedora.  Then,  too,  his  twenty-five 
louis  would  have  barely  sufficed  for  the  journey.  Resigned, 
since  he  could  not  do  otherwise,  to  remain  the  Count's 
debtor,  he  thought  he  ought,  however,  to  speak  of  his 
debt  and  excuse  himself  for  not  having  paid  it.  But 
Vibert,  more  and  more  morose,  refused  to  see  him. 

Savari  was  now  in  despair;  he  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
The  only  two  persons  with  whom  he  had  passed  his  life 
for  two  months  suddenly  failed  him,  without  his  knowing 
the  reasons  why  they  held  aloof  from  him.  Fedora  had 
seen  fit  to  close  her  door  to  him  the  day  after  he  had 
declared  his  love  to  her.  And  yet  she  had  listened  to 
him  in  silence,  she  had  almost  encouraged  him  to  speak; 
if  Vibert  had  not  entered  so  inopportunely,  she  would 
perhaps  have  answered  him.  And  now  she  separated 
herself  from  him  suddenly,  without  any  explanation,  at 
the  very  moment  he  was  beginning  to  hope. 

Like  a  soul  in  torment,  he  wandered  about  the  streets 
of  Paris,  passing  most  frequently  through  the  Rue  de 
Grammont.  One  day,  when,  as  usual,  he  raised  his  eyes 
to  Madame  Vidal's  windows,  he  saw  her  standing  at  one 
of  them.  Then  he  lost  his  head,  all  his  former  rashness 
returned  to  him.     He  ran  across  the  street,  up  two  flights 


Ilf  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  223 

of  stairs,  and,  pushing  by  Marietta,  who  tried  to  detain 
him,  he  entered  the  salon  and  found  himself  in  Fedora's 
presence. 

It  was  now  the  day  after  Langlade's  arrest  and  Vibert's 
visit  to  the  examining  magistrate. 


XII. 

When  she  perceived  Savari,  Madame  Vidal  rose  quickly 
to  reproach  him,  doubtless,  for  forcing  his  way  in,  despite 
her  orders.  But  he  did  not  give  her  time  to  speak; 
seizing  her  hands  before  she  could  prevent  him,  he  poured 
forth  his  love  in  the  most  passionate  words. 

"  I  live  only  in  you  and  for  you,"  he  cried.  "  Were  it 
not  for  you,  I  should  kill  myself;  existence  has  become 
odious  to  me.  My  life  is  a  failure,  I  am  a  useless  being, 
vicious,  corrupt;  I  hate  myself.  Have  pity  upon  me,  you 
can  reform  me;  a  look  from  you  would  make  me  better; 
a  kind  word,  a  smile,  a  little  encouragement,  and  I 
acquire  all  the  virtues  I  have  not.  A  week  has  passed 
without  my  seeing  you,  but  it  is  a  century,  Madame,  a 
century!  If  you  knew  all  that  I  have  suffered  during 
that  time!  Just  before  I  perceived  you  at  the  window, 
my  strength  and  courage  were  all  gone.  I  think  I  was 
about  to  take  some  desperate  step.  Yes,  it  is  so  difficult 
to  live  when  one  is  unhappy,  so  easy  to  kill  one's  self !  I 
am  very  pale,  am  I  not?  You  ought  to  have  pity  on  me! 
But  you  are  not  listening  to  me;  your  thoughts  are  far 
away  while  I  am  telling  you  of  my  sorrow,  opening  to 
you  my  entire  heart.  Listen  to  me,  Madame,  listen  to 
me!  It  is  serious,  I  assure  you!  What  reason  could  I 
have  for  deceiving  you?    I  swear  to  you  it  is  serious;  I 


224      fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

suffer,  I  suffer  terribly.  A  man  who  suffers,  as  I  do,  at 
least  deserves  pity!" 

He  stopped,  choked  with  emotion. 

Fedora  was  astounded  at  this  language,  entirely  new 
to  her.  Her  husband  had  spoken  to  her  the  language  of 
love;  but  this  of  passion,  she  heard  for  the  first  time. 

Savari  continued: 

"If  you  had  resolved  to  hold  aloof  from  me  so  soon, 
why  did  you  ever  receive  me?  Why  were  you  so  kind 
to  me?  Did  not  you  see  that  I  was  gradually  falling 
in  love  with  you?  Did  not  you  read  in  my  eyes  my 
love?  Ah!  a  woman  is  never  deceived  in  such  cases. 
She  does  not  need  a  man  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet 
and  exclaim,  'I  love  you,'  to  feel  that  she  is  loved. 
You  knew  that  my  heart  was  no  longer  my  own;  I 
had  given  it  to  you,  and  you  had  tacitly  accepted  it. 
Don't  deny  it;  you  accepted  it,  I  say,  and  you  have 
no  right,  out  of  caprice,  to  torture  me  like  this.  What 
evil  have  I  done  to  you?  What  fault  have  I  committed 
toward  you?  None!  Therefore,  I  can  say  to  you:  Either 
you  are  wrong  in  your  treatment  of  me  to-day,  or  you 
were  wrong  in  the  past." 

"  1  was  wrong,"  she  murmured,  gently. 

She  was  sincere  and  true  at  that  moment.  Convinced 
of  Savari's  guilt,  obeying  Vibert's  influence,  believing 
that  she  was  fulfilling  a  sacred  duty,  she  had  consented  to 
play  a  part  unworthy  of  her,  and  at  which  her  direct,  hon- 
est and  loyal  nature  revolted.  Little  by  little  she  had 
grown  blind  to  the  dangers  and  the  odious  side  of  her 
undertaking;  impassioned  in  all  she  did,  she  had  become 
imbued  with  the  spirit  of  her  role.  But  for  some  time 
past,  her  convictions  had  been  shaken  ;  she  was  com- 
mencing to  doubt  Savari's  guilt.  She  said  to  herself,  that 
if  he   were  not  guilty,  the  part  she  was  playing  was  a 


xxi    xniU  itUJii  Dili  LA  PAIXr  225 

wicked  one.  He  had  every  right  to  accuse  her,  and  re- 
proach her  for  his  sufferings.  Perhaps,  she  ought  even 
to  atone  to  him  for  the  wrong  she  had  done  him. 

While  Fedora  was  occupied  with  these  thoughts,  Savari, 
on  his  side,  reflected.  The  man  who  is  really  in  love  is 
never  very  clever  with  the  woman  he  loves.  His  usual 
intelligence  and  finesse  no  longer  serve  him.  He  commits, 
most  awkwardly,  unpardonable  faults,  and  he  does  not 
know  how  to  take  advantage  of  the  mistakes  of  his  adver- 
sary. Savari,  who  was  renowned  for  his  skill  in  gallantry, 
did  not  keep  up  his  reputation  as  far  as  Fedora  went. 
However,  a  man  in  love  has  moments  when  he  sees 
clearly;  suddenly  the  clouds,  which  obscure  his  vision, 
disperse,  and  he  sees  matters  as  they  are.  He  says:  "  This 
is  the  moment  to  strike,"  and  he  becomes  skillful  for  a 
moment,  until  the  sky  darkens  again. 

"  I  was  wrong,"  Fedora  had  said.  She  was  touched. 
Savari's  eloquence  had  produced  an  impression  upon  her 
mind,  if  not  upon  her  heart.  It  was  a  very  little  advan- 
tage obtained,  but  it  was  necessary  to  be  contented  with 
it  and  to  profit  by  it  as  soon  as  possible.  It  was  above 
all  important  that,  after  Fedora  had  confessed  so  much, 
she  should  have  no  reason  for  withdrawing.  Savari 
must  not  alarm  her  by  too  much  precipitation. 

Therefore,  calmer  and  more  master  of  himself  after  the 
advantage  he  thought  he  had  obtained,  he  no  longer  spoke 
the  language  of  passion,  for  fear  of  frightening  Fedora. 
He  sat  down  beside  her  and  tried  to  persuade  her  that 
she  ought  not  to  close  her  door  to  him,  that  she  ought  to 
receive  him  from  time  to  time,  and  try  to  cure  him  little 
by  little  of  the  malady  from  which  he  suffered. 

"  Be  kind  to  me,"  he  said  to  her;  "  treat  me  like  a  sick 
man,  like  a  convalescent,  and  I  shall  regain  my  health." 
This  was  the  only  language  which  could  have  any  influ- 
15 


226     fedora:  oe,  the  tragedy 

ence  with  a  woman  like  Fedora,  and  under  any  other 
circumstances  she  would  certainly  have  been  persuaded. 
But  she  was  in  an  exceptional  position.  She  was  no 
longer  sufficiently  convinced  of  Savari's  guilt  to  con- 
tinue to  play  the  role  she  had  accepted;  she  would 
not  push  her  enterprise  further;  she  refused  all  com- 
plicity with  Vibert  and  canceled  the  sort  of  engage- 
ment she  had  tacitly  contracted  with  the  examining 
magistrate  and  the  law.  But,  at  the  same  time,  she 
was  not  sure  enough  of  Savari's  innocence  to  sign  the 
compact  he  proposed  to  her.  As  long  as  the  shadow 
of  a  suspicion  rested  upon  him  she  must  exclude  him 
from  all  intimacy.  No  reasoning,  no  prayers  of  Savari 
could  move  her.  Her  heart  would  be  insensible  to  any 
efforts  on  his  part.  The  present  and  the  future  were  not 
her  own,  so  long  as  the  shadows  which  enveloped  the 
past  were  not  dissipated. 

She  took  courage,  and  advancing  toward  Savari,  said  : 
"  If  you  love  me,  as  you  affirm,  if  you  respect  your  love, 
if  you  respect  me,  leave  me,  Monsieur,  I  implore  you, 
and  do  not  attempt  to  see  me  again." 

"  Oh!  "  he  cried  in  despair,  "  is  that  all  you  can  find  to 


answer  me 


9» 


"  Believe  me,  I  can  not  answer  you  otherwise." 
"  But  you  are  breaking  my  heart!  " 
"  Alas!  "  she  said,  sadly,  "  that  is  not  my  fault." 
"  At  least,"  he  replied,  his  voice  trembling  with  emotion, 
"  tell  me  the  reason  of  so  much  coldness  and  harshness." 
"  No,  I  can  not  tell  you!     Indeed,  it  is  impossible!  " 
"Ah!  this  is  too  much  suffering! "  cried  Savari,  throw- 
ing himself  into  an  arm-chair,  and  burying  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

At  this  moment  Marietta  entered  the  salon,  and  going 
up  to  Madame  Vidal,  whispered  to  her: 


IN  THE  HUE  DE  LA  PALX.  22? 

"  Some  one  wants  to  see  you." 

"Who?" 

"  A  person  I  don't  know.  He  says  his  business  is  im* 
portant." 

Fedora  rose,  and  without  looking  at  Savari,  who  did 
not  raise  his  head,  she  followed  Marietta  into  the  hall. 
She  found  there  one  of  the  messengers  of  the  Palais  de 
Justice. 

"  Madame,"  said  the  man,  "  M.  Gourbet  ordered  me  to 
deliver  this  letter  into  your  own  hands." 

'*  Give  it  to  me,"  she  replied. 

She  took  the  letter,  and  while  Marietta  showed  the 
messenger  out,  she  re-entered  the  salon,  approached  a 
window,  and  read  as  follows: 

Madame  :  It  is  my  duty  to  inform  you  as  quickly  as 
possible  that  we  have  at  last  discovered  your  husband's 
assassin.  He  is  a  man  named  Langlade,  an  escaped  con- 
vict. "We  have  against  him  overwhelming  proofs,  which 
allow  no  possible  doubt  of  his  guilt.  Besides,  he  has  con- 
fessed. All  the  suspicions  we  had  against  Monsieur 
Albert  Savari  must  disappear.  The  sort  of  surveillance 
to  which  he  has  been  subjected  will  cease  from  to-day. 
I  sympathized  deeply  with  you  in  your  great  sorrow, 
Madame,  and  I  am  happy  to  say  to  you  at  last  that  your 
husband's  death  will  soon  be  avenged.  Believe,  Madame, 
in  the  assurance  of  my  deepest  respect  and  devotion.. 
(Signed)  Goubbet. 

She  read  this  letter  through  twice,  to  be  sure  that  she 
was  not  mistaken,  then  she  went  to  the  fire-place,  threw 
the  letter  into  the  fire,  and  advanced  toward  Savari. 

He  had  raised  his  head,  and  was  regarding  her  with  a 
look  of  surprise. 

When  6he  was  quite  near  him,  she  said,  softly: 


228     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  I  have  made  you  suffer  much;  forgive  me,  and  ask  no 
explanation  of  my  past  conduct.  I  have  wronged  you, 
and  I  will  repair  the  injury  I  have  done." 

Scarcely  had  she  said  these  words,  when  she  burst  into 
tears. 


XIII. 

A  large  coupe,  emblazoned  with  a  coat  of  arms,  and 
drawn  by  two  strong  Norman  horses,  stopped,  one  morn- 
ing, before  the  door  of  the  Hotel  des  Princes.  A  foot- 
man, seated  beside  the  coachman,  leaped  down  from  the 
box,  and  hastened  to  take  the  orders  of  the  person  within 
the  carriage. 

"  Find  out  from  the  people  of  the  Hotel,"  said  this  per- 
son, "  if  the  Count  de  Rubini  is  still  stopping  here,  and  if 
he  is  at  home  now." 

The  footman  executed  this  order  promptly,  and  returned 
to  say  that  the  Count  was  living  in  the  hotel,  and  that  he 
had  not  been  seen  to  go  out. 

"  Then  open  the  door  and  help  me  out,"  said  the  occu- 
pant of  the  carriage.  "  Do  you  know  the  number  of  his 
room?"  he  added,  as  he  crossed  the  court. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  it  is  number  4,  on  the 
second  floor." 

"On  the  second  floor?  The  devil!  That  is  a  little 
high  for  me  this  morning.  I  have  a  touch  of  iny  con- 
founded gout.     Well!  are  we  there  at  last? " 

"  There  is  the  door,  Monsieur  le  Marquis." 

"Open  it,  then,  instead  of  keeping  me  waiting  in  a 
draught.  Do  you  think  I  am  comfortable,  after  such  an 
ascent?     Now,  you  can  go;  I  will  come  down  alone." 

Vibert  was  stirring  the  fire  when   the  door  opened. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  229 

He  turned  his  head,  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise,  rose  hastily, 
and  ran  to  meet  his  visitor,  exclaiming: 

"What I  Monsieur  le  Marquis!  you  have  come  to  see 
me?" 

"Yes,  I  have!  What  is  there  so  astonishing  in  that? 
Don't  you  call  yourself  the  Count  de  Rubini?  Be  less 
stupid,  and  give  me  a  chair;  your  stairs  are  hard  to 
climb!" 

The  Marquis  de  X ,  whom  we  only  know  till  now 

through  his  correspondence  with  Vibert,  bore  his  sixty- 
five  years  lightly.  His  face  was  a  most  intelligent  one, 
with  thin  lips  and  whiskers  in  the  English  fashion.  He 
had  been  a  member  of  the  guards,  and  his  figure  was 
erect.  He  was  dressed  in  a  fashion  peculiar  to  himself; 
his  vest  was  very  long  and  buttoned  up  to  the  chin;  his 
black  coat  was  of  a  peculiar  shape,  and  his  trousers  were 
very  wide,  narrowing  at  the  bottom,  like  the  trousers  of 
hussars. 

M.  de  X was,  from  1835  to  1848,  the  spoiled  child 

of  the  Chamber  of  Peers.  His  sallies  and  epigrams, 
which  were  repeated  from  mouth  to  mouth  in  all  the 
salons  of  Paris,  are  still  remembered.  He  was  the  only 
peer  of  France  who  was  in  the  least  degree  popular.  His 
speeches  were  learned  by  heart,  and  only  the  reports  of 
the  sessions  in  which  the  witty  Marquis  spoke  were  read. 
He  spoke  often,  to  the  great  delight  of  his  colleagues,  and 
even  those  who  disagreed  with  his  opinions  listened  to 
him  with  pleasure.  Suddenly,  when  least  expected,  he 
would  rise,  and,  plunging  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  would 
begin  a  discourse. 

"  But,  Monsieur  de  X ,"  the  president  would  re- 
mark, "  why  do  you  take  the  floor  when  it  does  not  belong 
to  you?" 

"  Monsieur,"  the  Marquis  would  reply,  in  his  incisive 


230  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

voice,  "permit  me  to  say  that  if  it  belonged  to  me,  I 
should  not  be  obliged  to  take  it." 

"  Monsieur  de  X ,  allow  me  to  observe  that  you  are 

not  in  order.  You  have  been  speaking  for  an  hour  of 
England;  England  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question 
before  us." 

"  Monsieur,"  the  Marquis  would  reply,  with  the  utmost 
calmness,  "  my  love  for  the  English  is  not  overwhelming, 
as  you  know.  If  I  speak  of  them,  it  is  because  they  put 
their  noses  into  every  question." 

"  But  not  into  this  one." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur,  since  I  have  found 
means  to  attach  them  to  it." 

Despite  all  interruptions,  he  would  continue  to  dis- 
course for  an  hour  in  the  most  interesting  and  pictur- 
esque fashion,  connecting  all  questions  with  England, 
and  developing  in  a  charming  fashion  entirely  novel 
theories. 

When  the  Marquis  de  X was  comfortably  installed 

in  his  arm-chair,  he  said  to  Vibert: 

"  So,  you  imagined  you  could  cut  short  my  daily  letter, 
my  continued  story,  so  to  speak,  without  my  rebelling  and 
coming  to  demand  the  rest  of  it  from  you?  For  a  month, 
according  to  our  agreement,  you  sent  me  every  morning 
in  time  for  my  breakfast,  my  eight  columns;  you  told  me 
the  smallest  details  of  that  affair  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix; 
you  made  known  to  me  all  the  actions  and  speeches  of 
that  beautiful  Fedora  Vidal  and  that  fascinating  rascal 
called  Savari.  You  tell  me  that  the  next  day  will  come  a 
description  of  the  great  dagger  scene  at  the  Cafe  Anglais. 
This  promises  to  be  exciting,  when  slap!  bang!  there  is 
no  more  letter,  no  more  story,  nothing!  The  romance 
was  stopped  at  the  most  interesting  point,  and  you  have 
insulted  your  constant  reader." 


IN  THE  RUE  DE   LA  PAIX.  231 

"  Ah!  if  you  knew,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  began  Vibert, 
sadly. 

"  Morbleu !  if  I  knew,  I  should  ask  you  nothing.  Tell 
me,  what  has  become  of  your  characters?  I  love  them 
all!  Your  Fedora  does  not  speak  much,  all  credit  to  her, 
but  she  has  nerve.  Your  Savari  is  a  fine  product  of  the 
corrupt  society  which  surrounds  us;  that  knave  interests 
me.     Give  me  news  of  them  both!  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  tell  you,  Monsieur  le  Marquis;  I 
have  not  seen  the  persons  of  whom  you  speak  for  a  week 
past." 

"  You  are  deceiving  me!  "  cried  the  Marquis.  *'  What 
has  become  of  your  duty?" 

"  My  duty  consisted  in  seeking  out  a  criminal.  I  have 
done  so  and  I  have  found  him." 

"  Ah !  he  is  caught,  the  rascal !  That  is  rather  quick 
work." 

"  You  think,  probably,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  that  I  refer 
to  Savari?" 

"  Of  course." 

"  You  are  mistaken.     Savari  is  not  the  guilty  party." 

Then  Vibert  related  to  the  Marquis  all  that  we  know  in 
regard  to  Langlade  and  Soleil-Couchant.  This  story, 
instead  of  interesting  the  peer  of  France,  seemed  to  put 
him  in  a  very  bad  humor. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  pretty  ending!  "  he  said,  when  Vibert 
had  ceased  speaking.  *  "The  assassin  is  simply  a  convict; 
it  is  stale,  flat  and  unprofitable.  You  deserve  to  have  my 
confidence  withdrawn  from  you.  What!  Here  was  a 
magnificent  affair,  which  promised  to  be  a  little  original; 
a  pretty  woman,  a  handsome  man,  love  looming  up  on  the 
horizon ;  something  picturesque,  in  fact.  And  this  charm- 
ing romance  has  the  most  commonplace  denouement! 
Savari  and  Fedora  return  to  their  uninteresting  every-day 


232     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

life;  there  is  only  one  more  vulgar  criminal  in  prison. 
It  is  most  commonplace.  How  I  recognize  my  age 
under  all  this.  We  are  indeed  under  the  '  reign  of  the 
umbrella.'  " 

Then,  addressing  Vibert  directly: 

"  But,"  he  continued,  "  if  all  is  ended,  your  assassin  in 
jail  and  your  Savari  as  white  as  snow,  why  do  you  continue 
to  deport  yourself  as  the  Count  de  Rubini,  live  in  this 
fashionable  hotel  and  dress  better  than  I?  Have  you  in- 
herited a  fortune  or  discovered  real  ancestors?" 

"Indeed,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said  Vibert,  a  little 
embarrassed,  "  I  want  to  wear  out  my  clothes  and  finish 
my  month  at  the  hotel." 

"  Indeed,  my  friend?  Do  you  think  I  credit  such  non- 
sense? You!  wear  out  your  fine  clothes!  You  would 
a  thousand  times  rather  sell  them  to  some  second-hand 
dealer.  You!  finish  out  a  month  in  apartments  which 
cost  a  fabulous  sum?  Pooh!  In  the  first  place  rooms  are 
let  here  by  the  day;  then  the  proprietors  of  the  hotel,  I 
would  bet  my  head,  want  nothing  better  than  to  see  you 
depart.  I  know  you;  you  don't  lend  yourself  easily  to 
extravagance.  Ten  fellows  of  your  stamp  would  ruin  an 
establishment  like  this!  My  dear  Vibert,  you  have  other 
reasons  for  remaining  in  this  house,  and  I  will  tell  them  to 
you,  if  you  wish  it." 

"  But,  Monsieur  le  Marquis — " 

"You  don't  wish  it;  you  think  I  have  already  seen 
through  you,  you  who  are  so  cunning,  too." 

"  I  am  never  cunning  with  you,  Monsieur  le  Marquis." 

"  And  you  are  right,  my  boy,"  said  the  Marquis,  ap- 
proaching Vibert  and  taking  him  by  the  ear.  "Come," 
he  continued,  in  an  almost  paternal  tone,  "tell  me  your 
troubles,  it  will  relieve  you.  Whom  should  you  tell  them 
to,  if  not  to  me?     You  have  no  relations  or  friends.     You 


IN  THE   RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  233 

lead  a  solitary  life,  and  if  you  have  any  sorrow,  you  must 
suffer  more  than  any  one  else." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  agent  of  j3olice,  with  a  sigh. 

"You  see,  I  have  guessed  rightly.  Come,  I  am  going 
to  give  you  an  example  of  frankness.  It  was  not  alone 
a  sentiment  of  curiosity  which  impelled  me  to  come  here; 
it  was  also  a  desire  to  try  and  console  your  suffering. 
Have  I  not  seen  from  your  letters,  the  gradual  growth 
of  your  trouble?  Did  I  not  understand  why,  so  frank 
hitherto,  you  kept  silence  now?  You  know  well  that  I 
have  a  deep  interest  in  you ;  I  like  your  wit,  your 
bravery,  your  piquant  originality.  You  are  not  like 
every  one  else  in  the  world.  Under  the  old  regime  they 
would  have  made  of  you  a  Louvois,  a  Richelieu  or  a 
Mazarin.  In  our  days,  to  turn  your  talents  to  account, 
you  enter  the  police  service,  and  you  are  right;  it  is  per- 
haps a  less  stupid  profession  than  the  others.  I  have  no 
foolish  prejudices;  I  have  only  convictions.  Come,  now 
you  speak,  or  I  shall  never  stop.  I  am  a  little  garrulous 
this  morning;  there  has  been  no  session  for  two  days." 

"  What  can  I  say  to  you,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  except 
that  I  am  profoundly  touched — " 

"Enough!  don't  let  us  have  anything  about  gratitude. 
You  have  simply  to  tell  me  why  you  remain  in  this  hotel, 
or  rather  I  will  tell  you.  You  continue  to  call  yourself 
the  Count  de  Rubini,  to  dress  elegantly  and  to  live  here 
because  it  seems  to  you  that  by  returning  to  the  Rue  de 
l'Arbre-Sec  and  becoming  Vibert  again,  you  place  a  still 
deeper  gulf  between  you  and  her.  Have  I  guessed  the 
truth?" 

"  Yes,"  responded  Vibert,  simply. 

"You  love  her,then?" 

"  Love  her!  "  suddenly  cried  Vibert,  "  I  love  her  with 
all  the  strength  of  a  virgin  heart,  of  an  imagination  re- 


234  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

strained  till  now,  of  a  temperament  which  has  suddenly 
awakened  to  life.  I  have  not  used  up  my  heart;  I  have 
not  worn  it  on  my  sleeve,  opened  it  to  every  comer,  and 
dragged  it  through  the  mire.  None  of  the  women  I  had 
hitherto  met  could  make  it  beat;  they  passed,  and  I 
turned  away  my  head.  She  !  she  appeared  and  I  under- 
went a  sudden  metamorphosis;  my  blood  throbbed  through 
my  veins.  And  my  passion  is  all  the  stronger  for  coming 
so  late.  Yes,  at  thirty-six  I  commenced  to  live  and  I 
have  at  last  all  a  man's  passions.  But  I  must  stifle  them! 
She  who  has  inspired  them  can  not  understand  nor  ex- 
cuse them.  Ah!  if  you  knew  what  torture  it  is  to  think: 
'  Here  at  last  is  the  woman  I  have  waited  for;  she  is  there, 
near  me,  I  see  her  and  I  can  not  touch  her! '  She  is, 
however,  a  woman  like  the  others,  more  beautiful  and 
better  than  the  others,  but  fashioned  in  their  image,  a 
woman  in  every  acceptation  of  the  word,  ready  to  fall 
in  love.  She  is  not  a  marble  statue;  she  is  a  veritable 
woman.  But  I  !  I  am  not  a  man  like  the  others,  I 
am  a  sort  of  superior  monkey.  The  dames  of  ancient 
Rome,  who  used  to  bathe  before  their  slaves,  would  have 
treated  me  with  the  same  unceremoniousness!  There  is 
no  torture  like  mine!  Tantalus  himself,  whom  we  are> 
accustomed  to  pity,  was  the  happiest  of  men  in  compari* 
son  with  me.  He  was  hungry  and  thirsty;  so  am  I.  He 
wished  to  taste  the  apples  which  hung  above  his  head, 
and  the  fruit  retreated  when  he  stretched  out  his  hand. 
I  wish  to  taste  of  love,  and  loves  flies  me,  when  I  call  it, 
when  I  cry  out:  Come!  you  have  conquered  me  ! " 

Vibert  experienced  a  sort  of  bitter  pleasure  in  thus 
laying  bare  his  wounds,  in  saying:  "  There  is  the  place  I 
suffer,  there  is  the  place  I  bleed! " 

He  exaggerated  his  infirmities,  he  made  himself  out 
smaller,  uglier  and  more  deformed  than  he  really  was. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PALX.  235 

Did  he  hope  that  the  Marquis  would  rise  and  deny  the 
ugliness  of  which  he  complained?  Or  did  he  wish  rather 
to  persuade  himself  that  there  was  an  impassable  barrier 
between  Madame  Vidal  and  himself;  that  it  was  useless 
to  struggle  and  suffer  longer? 

The  Marquis  listened  to  him  attentively.  He  felt  him- 
self grow  young  again  in  the  presence  of  this  man  who 
was  more  impassioned  than  one  is,  in  our  days,  at  twenty 
years.  He  who  lived  in  an  official,  straight-laced  world, 
cold  by  temperament  and  calculation,  was  glad  to  have  at 
his  side  an  ardent,  passionate  being.  And  then,  more- 
over, Vibert  was  not  indifferent  to  him ;  some  old  memory, 
some  mysterious  bond  attached  perhaps  the  great  lord,  the 
millionaire,  the  peer  of  France,  to  the  little  employe  of 
the  Prefecture.  The  Marquis  suffered  to  see  his  protege 
suffer;  he  longed  to  comfort  him. 

"  I  am  not,"  he  said  to  him,  "a  man  to  give  advice,  a 
preacher  and  an  old  fogy,  as  my  age  would  seem  to  indi- 
cate. I  will  not  tell  you  that  you  must  conquer  your 
passions  and  forbid  your  heart  to  beat;  I  know  well  that 
you  want  nothing  better.  I  will  not  give  you  hopes, 
which  would  be  dangerous  and  which  I  have  no  faith  in. 
It  is  almost  impossible  for  Madame  Vidal  to  love  you,  not 
because  of  your  imperfections,  which  you  are  pleased  to 
exaggerate,  but  because  of  your  situation  toward  her. 
She  is  not  accustomed  to  look  upon  you  as  a  man ;  you 
have  been  in  her  eyes  a  means,  an  agent,  a  machine.  If 
it  were  only  a  question  of  physical  formation,  I  should 
bid  you  hope.  Women  are  better  than  we  are.  While 
we  have  but  one  thought — is  she  beautiful? — they  often 
seek  for  our  moral  qualities  and  fall  in  love  with  the 
mind  rather  than  the  appearance.  We  are  always  more 
or  less  material;  they  are  very  often  spiritual.  But  a 
woman  like  the  one  in  question  does  not  compound  with 


236  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

certain  defects.  She  may  fall  in  love  with  a  criminal,  if 
her  imagination  is  ardent  and  depraved,  but  she  does  not 
fall  in  love  with  an  unfortunate  who  is  of  inferior  station 
to  her  own  and  who  practices  a  profession  more  or  less 
looked  down  upon." 

The  Marquis  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  his  gout; 
he  rose,  took  Vibert's  arm,  and  forcing  him  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room  with  him,  he  continued  as  follows: 

"  You  see,  I  speak  to  you  frankly,  almost  rudely,  as  it 
is  my  duty  to  do.  But  I  can  give  you  some  consolation. 
What  is  it  that  causes  the  most  suffering  in  love?  To 
think:  This  woman  whom  I  ardently  long  for  belongs 
to  another;  I  can  not  make  her  love  me,  and  she  adores 
him.  There  is  nothing  like  this  in  your  case.  Madame 
Vidal  is  entirely  faithful  to  her  husband's  memory,  and 
her  heart  is  proof  against  all  attacks." 

Vibert  stopped  suddenly,  dropped  the  arm  upon  which 
the  Marquis  was  leaning,  and  exclaimed,  abruptly: 

"  You  are  determined  to  make  me  speak,  are  you 
not?" 

"I?"  said  the  Marquis,  greatly  astonished. 

"  You  have  said  to  yourself:  Place  your  finger  upon 
that  wound,  and  he  will  show  it  to  you  as  he  has  shown 
the  others." 

"  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,  my  friend.  What 
do  you  mean?"  • 

"  I  mean  the  thing  which  has  made  me  suffer  the  most 
cruelly,  Monsieur.  I  thought  that  you  had  guessed  it. 
Pardon  me,  I  was  mistaken." 

"  I  forgive  you;  but  try  to  explain  yourself.  Tell  me 
the  whole  story.     All  your  griefs  are  mine." 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  cried  Vibert,  "  I  am  jealous, 
furiously  jealous." 

"And  of  whom?" 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  287 

"  Of  Savari." 

"  Of  Savari!    She  loves  him?  " 

"She  will  love  him!" 

" It  is  impossible!    What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Everything,  Monsieur,  everything.  Ah!  you  don't 
know  this  Savari.  He  is  tall,  handsome,  elegant,  distin- 
guished. He  talks  well.  He  is  bright  and  clever.  I 
know  all  his  qualities;  Monsieur  le  Marquis; I  have,  so  to 
speak,  ferreted  them  out,  and  I  tell  you  that  such  a  man 
always  succeeds  in  pleasing,  when  he  desires  to." 

"  But  she  must  hate  this  man;  was  he  not  in  her  eyes 
her  husband's  murderer?" 

"  He  is  no  longer  so." 

"  One  does  not  pass  thus  from  hatred  to  love." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  and  you 
know  it  even  better  than  I.  Hatred  may  very  easily 
change  into  love.  There  is  even  a  proverb  in  that  con- 
nection, which  I  will  spare  you.  Ah!  if  Savari  had  been 
indifferent  to  her,  you  would  be  right.  A  woman  does 
not  fall  in  love  with  a  man  whom  she  has  for  a  long  time 
known  and  been  indifferent  to.  I  have  no  chance,  as 
you  very  justly  remarked.  But  he  has  every  chance. 
Remember,  she  has  wronged  him  enormously;  she  has 
suspected  him  unjustly  of  an  infamous  action;  she  will 
want  to  repair  the  injury  she  has  done  him,  and  one 
never  knows  to  what  length  a  woman  will  go  when  she 
has  once  taken  it  into  her  head  that  she  must  make 
amends  for  an  injury." 

"  Agreed!  "  replied  the  Marquis,  "  but,  my  dear  fellow, 
you  forget  that  Madame  Vidal  is  an  honest  woman,  that 
she  loved  her  husband,  and  will  remain  long  faithful  to 
his  memory." 

"There  you  are  in  error,  Monsieur  le  Marquis;  Madame 
Vidal  did  not  love  her  husband." 


238  FEDOBA  :   OB,  THE  TBAGEDT 

"What?" 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  what  I  have  discovered. 
Am  I  not  an  observer  by  profession  and  by  temperament? 
She  lived  at  Genoa,  in  the  midst  of  her  family,  when 
Maurice  Vidal  arrived  there,  saw  her,  and  proposed  for 
her  hand.  She  consented  to  marry  him,  because  he  was 
a  good  match,  because  she  would  live  in  Paris,  which  is 
the  dream  of  all  foreigners,  and,  finally,  because  the  first 
man  who  pays  attention  to  a  young  girl  has  strong  chances 
of  pleasing  her.  She  took  for  love  what  was  at  first  a 
feeling  of  curiosity,  and  afterward  became  an  honest 
attachment.  As  for  real  love,  her  husband,  like  all  hus- 
bands, did  not  dream  of  inspiring  it.  Maurice  Vidal  was 
of  a  rather  methodical  and  cold  nature;  he  understood  a 
calm,  honest  affection,  but  of  a  fiery  passion  he  knew 
nothing.  He  demanded  of  his  wife  only  what  he  could 
give  her  himself:  fidelity,  attachment  and  tenderness." 

"  How  do  you  explain,  then,"  asked  the  Marquis, 
"Madame  Vidal's  violent  despair  at  the  death  of  her 
husband,  and  the  excitement  you  have  so  often  noticed 
in  her?" 

"  I  have  not  pretended,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  that 
Madame  Vidal  was  not  of  an  ardent  temperament,  but 
she  was  obliged  to  keep  herself  under  restraint;  so  she 
found  a  vent  for  the  excitement  she  craved  in  avenging 
Maurice  Vidal's  death.  To-day,  as  the  murderer  is  dis- 
covered, her  passionate  nature  must  find  something  else, 
and  Savari  is  at  hand." 

After  a  moment's  silence,  the  Marquis  said: 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  now?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Vibert;  "  suffer,  I  suppose." 

"  Do  you  intend  to  continue  to  live  here?  " 

"  As  long  as  my  money  holds  out." 

"  Shall  you  try  to  see  Madame  Vidal  again?" 


IN  THE  HUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  239 

"  See  her,  oh,  yes!  Speak  to  her,  no;  what  would  be 
the  use?     She  has  no  longer  need  of  my  services." 

"  I  don't  understand  you.  How  can  you  see  her  and 
not  speak  to  her?  Do  you  mean  that  you  will  watch  for 
her  on  the  street,  that  you — " 

"  No,"  said  Vibert,  interrupting  the  Marquis,  "  I  shall 
go  to  her  house." 

"Well?" 

"I  can  see  her  without  her  seeing  me,  without  her 
having  any  idea  of  my  presence  near  her.  The  day  I 
hired  the  apartments  for  her,  I  arranged  a  hiding  place 
for  myself.  Yes,  I  have  a  little  peep-hole  in  the  Rue  de 
Grammont,  like  the  one  Esmeralda's  lover  had  at  Notre- 
Dame." 

"  You  think  of  everything." 

"  I  thought  of  overhearing  Savari's  confession.  I  think 
now — " 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  Marquis,  kindly. 

"  Of  witnessing  their  love,"  finished  Vibert.  "  Is  not 
that  my  destiny?  Can  I  live  on  my  own  account?  Mu3t 
I  not  always  live  the  life  of  others?" 

"What!  you  will  have  the  strength  to — " 

"Yes.  Listen.  Madame  Vidal's  salon  communicates 
directly  on  one  side  with  the  hall.  But  on  the  other, 
near  the  fire-place  and  opposite  the  sofa  where  she  gen- 
erally sits,  is  a  glass  door.  This  door  is  bolted  both 
inside  and  outside.  I  pass  before  the  concierge,  who 
thinks  I  am  going  to  visit  Madame  Vidal  and  makes  no 
remark.  Instead  of  ascending  the  grand  staircase,  I  go 
up  by  the  back  stairs.  I  open  a  door  of  which  I  possess 
the  key,  enter  a  corridor  and  I  am  face  to  face  with  the 
glass  door.  Then  I  crouch  down  in  a  corner,  apply 
my  eye  to  a  little  opening  I  made,  and  I  see  without 
being  seen,  I  hear  without  being  heard,  for  I  hold  my 


240      fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

breath  and  press  ray  hand  against  my  heart  to  still  its 
beating." 

"  But,  unhappy  boy,  this  is  madness." 

"  It  is  wisdom.  By  the  very  force  of  suffering  I  shall 
perhaps  wear  out  my  sorrow." 

"  Give  up  these  senseless  projects,"  said  the  Marquis. 
"The  mission  confided  to  you  is  fulfilled,  thanks  to  your 
intelligence;  Maurice  Vidal's  assassin  is  discovered.  You 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  this  affair;  the  courts  now 
have  charge  of  it.  Take  up  your  former  occupation, 
return  to  the  Rue  de  l'Arbre-Sec,  and  to  your  office  in  the 
Rue  Saint  Honore,  which  you  should  never  have  quitted." 

"  I  could  not  return  again  to  my  office  and  work,"  said 
Vibert;  "  my  thoughts  would  be  elsewhere." 

"  Do  you  prefer  to  leave  Paris,  France,  and  travel 
abroad?  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  my  income;  it 
embarrasses  me.  I  certainly  don't  want  to  pile  up  money 
for  my  scamp  of  a  nephew  to  inherit.  Travel,  and  I  will 
give  you  an  income  proportionate  to  your  needs." 

"Oh,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  how  good  you  are!"  said 
Vibert. 

"  No,  I  am  not  good.  I  am  fond  of  you,  that  is  all, 
you  imbecile!    Well,  do  you  accept?" 

"No,  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  I  shall  have  strength 
enough  to  suffer;  I  should  never  have  the  courage  to  go 
away  from  her." 

"  Go  to  the  devil,  then !  "  cried  the  Marquis,  taking  his 
hat. 

"That  is  good  advice;  I  will  follow  it,"  said  Vibert, 
accompanying  his  friend  respectfully  to  his  carriage. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PALX.  241 


XIV. 

If   it   would   have   been   natural,  as  the    Marquis  de 

X had  observed,  for  Vibert  to  leave  the  Hotel  des 

Princes,  it  would  have  been  still  more  natural  for  Fedora 
Vidal  to  return  to  her  apartments  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix. 
Had  she  not  gone  to  live  in  the  Rue  de  Grammont  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  receiving  Savari  there  and  of  hiding  from 
him  her  past?  Why  so  much  mystery  now?  Why  not 
resume  her  real  name  and  return  to  a  house  full  of  mem- 
ories dear  to  her  heart? 

"  You  were  arrested,"  she  should  have  said  to  Savari, 
"and  suspected  of  a  crime.  I  did  not  know  you;  I  sus- 
pected you  also;  I  undertook  to  play  a  part  to  obtain 
proof  of  your  guilt.  To-day  your  innocence  is  established; 
I  ask  your  pardon  for  my  odious  suspicions,  and  I  become 
again  Fedora  Vidal." 

But  she  did  not  dare  to  say  these  words  for  fear  of  put- 
ting Savari  in  too  false  and  too  painful  a  position  toward 
herself.  She  feared  also  perhaps  having  to  blush  before 
him  for  all  her  past  falsehoods. 

Yet  she  would  say  to  herself:  "  This  can  not  last;  he 
must  know  who  I  am.  I  can  not  continue  to  play  this 
eternal  travesty,  and  to  act  like  an  adventuress.  I  have 
a  name,  an  honorable  name.  I  ought  to  resume  it.  I 
will  speak,  I  must  speak." 

But  she  did  not  speak  and  she  continued  to  be  false,  in 
order  not  to  avow  her  falsehood. 

They  had  taken  up  again  their  former  life,  only  Vibert 
no  longer  came  to  trouble  their  tete-a-t£tes.  This  sudden 
disappearance  caused  Savari  some  surprise;  he  asked 
Fedora  the  reason  of  it,  but  she  was  embarrassed  and  gave 
him   no   satisfactory  answer.     Savari  naturally  thought 

16 


242     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

that  the  Count,  in  whom  he  had  noticed  a  certain  jeal- 
ousy, was  angry  with  his  cousin,  because  of  her  intimacy 
with  himself. 

Every  day,  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Savari 
came  to  Fedora's,  and  did  not  leave  till  dinner  time. 
Seated  by  her  side  upon  the  sofa  in  the  salon,  he  spoke  of 
his  early  life,  his  struggles  and  his  trials.  He  tried  to 
teach  her  to  know  him  and  to  judge  him  more  justly  than 
others  had  done. 

"  I  am  blamed,"  he  said  to  her,  "  for  living  from  hand 
to  mouth,  for  not  having  made  for  myself  a  position  in 
the  world,  for  having  no  settled  income,  for  being  useless 
to  everybody  and  principally  to  myself.  And  it  is  just. 
If  I  had  to  begin  my  life  over  again,  I  should  make  it  a 
very  different  one.  But  should  not  also  the  obstacles 
without  number  I  have  encountered  at  every  turn  be 
taken  into  account? 

"  I  entered  life  without  a  protector,  without  family,  with- 
out friends,  with  a  few  thousand  francs  for  my  whole 
patrimony.  I  should  have  worked.  But  was  I  brought  up 
with  any  of  the  habits  of  work?  No.  My  mother  scarcely 
paid  any  attention  to  me.  She  thought  only  of  her  own 
pleasure.  I  do  not  reproach  her;  she  loved  me  in  her  way. 
But,  in  certain  positions,  one  should  not  bring  children  into 
the  world.  If  you  knew  what  a  spectacle  was  constantly 
before  my  eyes,  what  a  strange  existence  I  led!  what 
irregularity  there  was  in  our  way  of  living!  One  day  we 
were  rich,  the  next  day  poor.  We  gave  a  magnificent 
ball;  all  the  newspapers  reported  it;  all  Paris  struggled 
for  invitations.  We  danced  till  morning;  every  one 
went  away  delighted;  and  when  there  was  no  one  left  in 
the  salons,  my  mother  gathered  together  her  jewels  and 
dresses  and  sent  them  to  the  pawnbroker's  to  raise  the 
money  to  pay  the  florist  and  confectioner  who  would  not 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  243 

give  credit.  How  many  times  I  have  breakfasted  like  a 
prince,  and  supped  off  a  crust!  What  gay  carelessness 
there  was  in  the  midst  of  all  this  disorder!  How  little 
we  cared  for  either  wealth  or  poverty.  And  the  creditors! 
Ah!  when  they  did  not  threaten  to  make  a  seizure, 
what  little  thought  we  gave  them.  They  could  never 
find  us;  they  entered  by  one  door,  and  we  went  out 
laughing  at  the  other.  We  took  no  notice  of  their 
bills;  we  only  troubled  ourselves  about  them  when 
they  came  with  voluminous  documents,  a  sheriff  and 
two  clerks.  Ah!  if  some  one  had  taken  me  aside 
and  said  to  me:  'Beware,  my  boy,  don't  follow  the 
example  before  you;  you  must  not  live  that  way. 
Some  day,  perhaps,  you  will  not  be  held  to  account 
for  your  mother's  past,  but  don't  be  too  much  like  her; 
make  a  name  for  yourself  by  your  own  work.'  But  with- 
out advice,  left  to  myself,  I  lived  as  I  had  always  seen 
those  about  me  live,  and  I  lived  badly,  till  the  day  I  met 
you.  I  understood  then  how  evil  I  was,  when  I  expe- 
rienced real  love  for  the  first  time." 

"  Do  you  work  now?"  asked  Fedora,  kindly. 

"Not  yet;  but  I  am  seeking  for  something  to  do." 

"How  do  you  live?  I  have  the  right  to  question  you, 
since  I  am  your  confidant." 

"Oh!"  he  replied,  "I  don't  need  much  now.  I  no 
longer  care  for  money.  I  don't  desire  now  to  show  my- 
self in  the  Bois  from  three  to  five,  at  Tortoni's  about  six, 
and  at  the  opera  in  the  evening.  I  awake  and  my  first 
thought  is:  '  At  what  time  shall  I  see  her  to-day? '  Then 
dress,  and  take  a  modest  breakfast.  I  walk  on  the  bou- 
levards until  I  can  come  here.  I  remain  with  you  till 
you  send  me  away,  and  I  think  of  you  all  the  rest  of  the 
time." 

Then  she  tried  to  speak  seriously  to  him,  like  a  friend, 


244  FEDORA  :   OE,  THE  TRAGEDY 

a  sister.  She  said  to  him  that  he  must  think  of  his  future 
and  struggle  against  a  love  which  she  could  not  share. 

"  I  like  you,"  she  acknowledged,  "  I  can  not  hide  that 
from  you.  I  think,  indeed,  that  you  are  not  wholly 
responsible  for  the  errors  for  which  you  have  been  so 
severely  judged;  you  are  better  than  your  reputation. 
I  thank  you  for  having  so  frankly  told  me  of  your  past, 
of  which  otherwise  I  should  have  known  nothing.  I 
esteem  you  all  the  more  for  it.  But  only  esteem  and 
friendship  can  exist  between  us;  love  must  be  banished 
from  your  thoughts.  Let  us  have  for  each  a  true  and 
sincere  affection.  Like  you,  I  am  almost  alone  in  the 
world ;  be  to  me  a  friend,  and  respect  the  tears  which  I 
still  shed." 

He  would  promise  all  she  wished,  or  rather  all  she 
thought  she  wished.  He  would  vow  to  be  content 
with  what  she  offered  him  and  never  to  speak  to  her  again 
of  love,  and  a  moment  afterward  he  would  forget  his 
promise. 

So  their  lives  rolled  by,  until  an  accident  came  and 
effected  a  certain  change. 

Since  her  husband's  death,  Fedora  Vidal  had  fallen 
into  the  habit  of  reading  the  newspapers.  She  wanted 
to  know  all  that  was  said  in  regard  to  the  crime  of  the 
Rue  de  la  Paix. 

One  morning  she  suddenly  dropped  the  paper  from  her 
hands,  and  exclaiming,  "This  is  infamous!"  she  called 
Marietta. 

"  Read  that,"  she  said,  "  read  what  these  French  jour- 
nalists have  the  impudence  to  write." 

As  she  spoke,  she  pointed  out  an  article  which  had 
reference  to  Langlade's  approaching  trial.  It  related  the 
particulars  of  the  crime,  and  then  went  on  to  say: 

"  Langlade  lived  for  some  years  with  a  woman  nick' 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  245 

named  Soleil-Couchant,  with  whom  he  was  madly  in 
love.  He  met  Maurice  Vidal  at  her  house,  followed  him, 
and  killed  him  in  a  fit  of  jealousy." 

Fedora,  pale  with  indignation,  snatched  the  journal 
from  Marietta's  hand,  when  the  latter  had  read  it,  and 
exclaimed : 

"  In  our  country,  the  man  who  dared  to  write  such  a 
slander  would  be  horsewhipped  or  shot!  What!  to  pretend 
that  my  husband  was  the  lover  of  a  woman  like  that?  that 
he  was  with  her  the  very  evening  before  my  return?  I 
will  give  the  lie  to  that  article.  It  wounds  me  in  what  I 
hold  most  dear!  Come,  help  me  to  dress,  Marietta;  I 
am  going  to  the  newspaper  office." 

The  editor,  whom  Madame  Vidal  saw  an  hour  afterward 
and  questioned,  without  giving  her  name,  assured  her 
that  he  had  his  information  directly  from  a  person  em- 
ployed at  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and  who  was  too  well 
informed  to  be  mistaken. 

Fedora  went  immediately  to  the  Palais  de  Justice  and 
saw  M.  Gourbet. 

"  Madame,"  said  he  to  her,  when  she  had  explained  what 
brought  her,  "  the  article  which  afflicts  you,  and  justly, 
emanated  neither  from  my  colleagues  nor  myself;  we  are 
not  in  the  habit  of  giving  details  to  the  newspapers,  and 
we  often,  on  the  contrary,  have  to  deplore  certain  in- 
discreet statements  made  by  them.  But  the  indiscretion 
is  committed;  I  am  very  sorry,  and  I  pity  you  sincerely." 

"What!  pity  me,  Monsieur!  I  am  not  to  be  pitied. 
That  article  causes  me  no  sorrow,  since  it  is  a  lie.  It 
simply  excites  my  indignation." 

M.  Gourbet  was  silent. 

"  You  do  not  answer  me,"  she  said.  "  Is  it  possible 
that  you  believe  the  story  that  paper  relates?" 

"Madame,"  said  the  judge,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 


246  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"if  the  truth  could  always  remain  hidden  from  you,  be» 
lieve  me,  I  should  not  answer  your  question.  Unfortu* 
nately  Langlade's  trial  will  take  place  before  long,  you 
will  be  a  witness,  and  the  smallest  details  of  the  affair 
will  be  revealed  to  you.  It  is  better  then  to  acknowledge 
all  to  you  to-day:  the  article  of  which  you  complain  was 
true  in  every  respect." 

"  What,  Monsieur,"  cried  Fedora,  "  my  husband  went 
during  my  absence  to  that  creature's  house?  " 

"  He  had  only  left  there  a  few  minutes  before  he  was 
killed." 

"  It  is  impossible  ! " 

"  It  is  only  too  true." 

"You  can  prove  what  you  say?" 

"  Alas,  yes,  Madame;  it  is  I,  you  know,  who  have 
charge  of  this  affair." 

For  three  days  Fedora  refused  to  receive  Savari. 

However,  she  did  not  shut  herself  up  at  home;  she 
went  out  several  times.  She  went  first  to  Saint-Roch 
Church,  where,  since  her  husband's  death,  she  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  burning  a  candle  at  the  Virgin's  shrine 
every  morning.  But  this  time,  instead  of  remaining  to 
pray  as  formerly,  she  gave  orders  to  have  a  candle  burned 
every  day,  without  her  being  obliged  to  be  there,  and  paid 
a  month  in  advance. 

She  then  went  with  Marietta  to  the  Rue  de  la  Paix, 
packed  up  the  articles  which  belonged  to  her  and  sent 
them  to  the  Rue  de  Grammont;  then  she  told  the  con- 
cierge to  sell,  the  furniture  and  let  the  apartment. 

Finally,  she  went  to  the  cemetery  of  Pere-Lachaise. 
Ordinarily,  before  this,  she  had  stopped  at  a  florist's  and 
bought  a  bunch  of  roses  and  Parma  violets.  These  were 
Maurice's  favorite  flowers,  and  she  had  placed  every  day 
upon  his  grave  a  bouquet  like  those  he  had  once  given 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  247 

her.  This  time  she  simply  placed  on  her  husband's  grave 
a  wreath  of  immortelles. 

After  three  days,  Savari,  pale  and  alarmed,  was  at  last 
admitted. 

"  Why  have  you  banished  me  from  your  presence?  "  he 
cried.     "Why?" 

She  interrupted  him,  saying: 

"  Don't  complain.  It  would  be  unjust.  You  have  no 
need  to  complain,  I  assure  you!  " 


XV. 

One  day  when  Vibert  was  crossing  one  of  the  corridors 
of  the  Prefecture  of  Police,  where  he  was  obliged  to  go 
from  time  to  time  to  report  himself,  he  met  the  chief  of 
police. 

"  Well,"  said  the  latter,  stopping  him,  "  you  got  us  into 
a  nice  mess." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Vibert. 

"  We  nearly  lost  Langlade." 

"  Did  he  try  to  escape?  " 

"  He  has  been  at  the  point  of  death." 

"  Then  it  is  a  pity  he  didn't  die,  poor  devil!  " 

"  For  himself,  perhaps,  but  not  for  us.  It  would  surely 
have  been  said  that  we  killed  him  or  allowed  him  to  die. 
All  Paris  counts  upon  an  interesting  trial,  and  a  Parisian 
is  not  agreeable  when  deprived  of  his  excitement  and 
pleasure.     Fortunately,  Langlade  is  now  well." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  him?" 

"  A  sort  of  brain  fever,  brought  on  by  the  interview 
with  his  mistress,  which  you  insisted  upon." 

"This  is  the  reason  his  trial  has  been  delayed?" 


248     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  Certainly;  we  are  most  anxious  to  be  rid  of  him  as 
soon  as  possible.  He  is  not  an  agreeable  prisoner  to  have ; 
he  has  to  be  watched  all  the  time." 

"Is  he  still  violent?" 

"  No,  he  is  very  calm  now,  very  much  broken  down. 
But  we  can  not  trust  him,  and  we  keep  constantly  upon 
our  guard." 

"Where  has  he  been  transferred  to?"  asked  the  agent 
of  police. 

"  Nowhere.  He  is  at  the  Conciergerie  still ; "  we  prefer 
to  have  him  under  our  own  eyes.  By  the  way,  since  you 
are  here,  you  ought  to  go  and  see  him." 

"I!     Why?" 

"You  have  shown  that  you  have  a  certain  influence 
over  him,  and  you  can  perhaps  persuade  him  to  answer 
the  questions  of  the  examining  magistrate." 

"  He  won't  answer!     I  foresaw  that." 

"It  has  been  impossible  to  wrest  even  a  word  from 
him,  much  less  a  confession,"  responded  the  chief  of 
police. 

"  He  has  spoken  once;  that  is  sufficient." 

"  It  would  be  better  if  he  would  speak  now.  It  would 
be  a  misfortune  if  he  should  persist  in  his  absolute  silence 
before  the  jury." 

"Oh!"  said  Vibert,  "there  is  not  the  slightest  doubt 
about  that.  He  will  persist,  if  he  has  made  up  his  mind 
to  it.  When  an  idea  enters  a  brain  of  his  calibre,  it  is 
not  easily  removed." 

"  I  think  you  can  remove  it.     Will  you  try?  " 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't;  I  only  say  that  it  is 
useless." 

"  Come  with  me;  I  will  take  you  to  him." 

Langlade,  when  Vibert  entered  his  cell,  was  lying  upon 
the  bed,  with  his  face   toward  the  wall.     He  probably 


IN  THE   RUE  DE  LA   PA IX.  249 

thought  it  was  some  jailor,  for  he  did  not  trouble  himself 
to  look  round.  Vibert  walked  up  to  him,  and  touching 
him  on  the  shoulder,  said: 

"  Well,  old  man,  you  have  been  sick,  they  tell  me." 

Langlade  turned  and  rose  to  his  feet;  his  pale  face 
flushed  and  his  haggard  eyes  brightened. 

"Is  it  you?"  he  said.  "Well,  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you.     How  is  your  knee?  " 

"  Oh!  don't  speak  of  that;  that  is  all  well  long  ago.  I 
hadn't  your  luck;  I  didn't  have  brain  fever.  During 
your  illness,  at  least,  you  were  able  to  forget." 

"  Yes,"  said  Langlade,  sadly,  "  but  I  am  better  now." 

"  Do  you  still  think  of  that  creature  who  has  made  you 
suffer  so  cruelly  ?  " 

"Yes,  all  the  time." 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  love  her  still?" 

'■'  Yes,"  replied  Langlade,  unhesitatingly.  "  That  as- 
tonishes you,  no  doubt,"  he  added,  after  a  moment. 

"Me!"  said  Vibert.  "What!  I  astonished  at  your 
stupidity?  Bah!  I  am  as  bad  as  you;  I  think  I  could 
even  give  you  points.  I  astonished  at  your  persistency 
in  loving  one  who  does  not  love  you!  That  is  always  the 
case,  my  good  fellow.  You  adore  Soleil-Couchant  because 
she  treats  you  in  the  most  outrageous  fashion.  If  she 
were  very  kind,  very  good,  very  sweet,  if  she  came  to  see 
you  every  morning  and  brought  you  a  little  bunch  of 
violets,  you  would  soon  grow  tired  of  her.  Reflect,  my 
friend:  if  we  loved  always  and  were  always  loved,  we 
should  be  too  happy;  life  would  consist  of  one  eternal  kiss." 

"  Have  you  seen  her? "  asked  Langlade,  who  had 
waited  impatiently  to  ask  this  question,  while  Vibert  was 
delivering  his  wise  aphorisms. 

"  No,"  replied  the  agent  of  police,  "  I  have  not  laid 
eyes  on  her." 


250     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

K  Where  is  she  now?" 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea." 

"  I  tried  to  question  the  jailors  about  her,"  said  Lang- 
lade, "  but  they  wouldn't  answer  me." 

"  That  ought  not  to  surprise  you.  Jailors  are  not  gen- 
erally very  communicative.  Besides,  you  have  been 
somewhat  silent  yourself." 

"  Yes,"  said  Langlade.  "  They  wanted  to  make  me 
talk,  but  I  don't  like  that.  Perhaps  you  came  here  for 
that  purpose,  too?  " 

"  I  should  not  be  sorry  to  induce  you  to  answer  the 
magistrate's  questions.  He  is  a  good  fellow  and  won't 
anger  you." 

"  He  annoys  me." 

"  He  is  only  doing  his  duty.  You  annoy  him  much 
more  by  refusing  to  talk  with  him." 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  say  to  him?  He  asks  me  a 
lot  of  things  that  I  don't  understand.  He  wants  details 
of  the  way  in  which  I  killed  the  gentleman  of  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix.  I  prefer  not  to  speak  of  that,  and  so  have 
kept  silent." 

"  You  have  at  least  conferred  with  your  lawyer?  " 

"  My  lawyer?   I  refused  to  see  him  when  he  came  here." 

"How  can  he  defend  you,  then?" 

" I  don't  want  him  to  defend  me! "  exclaimed  Langlade. 
"I  want  to  be  let  alone.  They  will  condemn  me,  what- 
ever I  say  or  do." 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Vibert,  "there  is  a  chance 
for  you." 

"  What?  I  thought  you  told  me  once  my  business  was 
settled." 

"  I  may  have  been  mistaken,"  remarked  the  agent  of 
police.  "  Your  case  is  a  bad  one,  certainly,  considering 
your  antecedents;  but  a  skillful  lawyer  might  make  it 


IN  THE  RUE  DE   LA   PAIX.  251 

appear  that  there  was  no  premeditation  on  your  part,  that 
you  only  obeyed  an  impulse  of  fury  and  jealousy,  which 
made  you  temporarily  insane.  Then,  there  are  juries  in 
France  who  do  not  believe  in  the  death  penalty,  and 
always  find  extenuating  circumstances." 

"  I  don't  want  their  extenuating  circumstances!  "  cried 
Langlade ;  "  if  I  can't  live  with  Soleil-Couchant  I  prefer 
to  die!" 

"  As  you  please.  You  have  determined  not  to  defend 
yourself;  so  be  it.  It  is  as  much  a  suicide  as  any  other. 
Well,  good-bye.  Do  you  want  anything?  Would  you 
like  some  tobacco?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  smoke." 

"Ah!  naturally!  You  have  no  faults,  you  have  only 
vices." 

"  You  can  do  me  a  great  service,  though,"  said  Lang- 
lade, as  Vibert  rapped  on  the  door  to  summon  the  jailor. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  ask  me,"  replied  the 
agent  of  police,  turning.  "  You  would  like  news  of  Soleil- 
Couchant?     I  will  inquire  about  her." 

"Ah!  don't  trust  to  what  you  hear.     Go  and  see  her." 

"  Very  well.     I  will  do  so." 

"You  will  speak  to  her  of  me?" 

"  All  the  time." 

"And  if  she  should  say  anything  good  of  me?" 

"I  will  come  and  tell  you  of  it.     Good-bye!  " 

"Good-bye! "  said  Langlade,  as  the  door  closed. 


XVI. 

Vibert,  after  leaving  Langlade,  went  to  report  to  the 
chief  of  police  the  result  of  his  visit. 

"  As  I  told  you,"  he  said,  "  I  could  not  persuade  him  to 


252  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

speak.  He  probably  will  not  even  answer  the  questions 
put  to  him  by  the  president  of  the  court  of  assizes." 

Vibert  might  have  added: 

"  There  is,  it  is  true,  an  infallible  means  of  breaking  up 
his  obstinate  silence;  to  say  to  him:  '  I  have  seen  Soleil- 
Couchant  and  she  is  sorry  for  the  way  in  which  she  be- 
haved. She  has  learned  to  love  you  since  she  has  been 
separated  from  you.  She  begs  you  to  pardon  her  and  to 
defend  yourself,  in  the  hope  that  you  may  simply  be  sent 
to  the  galleys,  from  whence  you  can  escape,  as  usual,  and 
join  her.' " 

Langlade  would  certainly  have  credited  these  words. 
We  believe  so  easily  what  can  make  us  happy.  We  are, 
above  all,  so  credulous  in  love,  and  when  we  suffer,  so  dis- 
posed to  suffer  no  more.  But  Vibert  would  not  employ 
such  means.  He  had  had  time  to  judge  Soleil-Couchant, 
and  he  knew  she  was  not  a  woman  to  change  her  mind. 
Far  from  desiring  Langlade's  deliverance,  she  hoped  with 
all  her  soul  that  he  would  be  condemned  to  death,  which 
would  deliver  her  from  him  forever. 

"  Why,"  he  thought,  "  should  I  attach  that  unhappy 
man  to  life?  If  he  is  condemned,  he  will  suffer  much 
more  cruelly.  If  he  is  sent  to  the  galleys  and  escapes, 
Soleil-Couchant  will  torture  him  to  death  by  degrees." 

However,  Vibert  desired  to  keep  the  promise  made  to 
Langlade,  and  asked  what  had  become  of  Soleil-Couchant. 

"  She  was  set  at  liberty  two  weeks  ago,"  answered  the 
chief  of  police. 

"Ah!  you  have  let  her  go?" 

"Yes;  she  was  arrested  for  a  simple  misdemeanor,  and 
we  remitted  the  penalty  incurred  in  consideration  of  her 
having  given  up  her  lover.  As  for  the  assassination,  it  is 
evident  that  she  could  not  have  been  Langlade's  accom- 
plice.   She  will  appear  in  court  simply  as  a  witness.     It 


IN  THE  EUE   DE  LA   PALX.  253 

was  useless  to  support  her  at  the  expense  of  the  State;  we 
have  more  interesting  pensioners." 

"  Do  you  know  what  has  become  of  her  since  she  was 
set  at  liberty?"  asked  Vibert. 

"Certainly;  we  have  not  entirely  lost  sight  of  her,  and 
if  you  wish  to  call  upon  her,"  said  the  chief  of  police, 
consulting  a  register,  "  she  is  now  living  in  the  Rue  des 
Trois  Freres,  corner  of  the  Rue  Saint  Lazare." 

"In  furnished  apartments?"  asked  Vibert. 

"By  no  means;  she  has  furniture  of  her  own;  she  is 
too  pretty  not  to  get  on." 

In  fact,  as  the  chief  of  police  had  said,  Soleil-Couchant 
had  found,  since  her  departure  from  the  prison,  an  oppor- 
tunity to  be  well  settled,  and  she  had  seized  it  with  both 
hands.  This  time  her  furniture  was  bought  and  paid  for 
on  the  spot;  it  was  not  at  all  like  that  which  Langlade 
had  once  graciously  offered  to  his  mistress,  at  the  expense 
of  a  householder  in  the  suburbs  of  Paris. 

Soleil-Couchant's  gift  was  due  to  the  generosity  of  a 
young  Englishman.  This  is  how  it  happened:  The  door 
of  the  Conciergerie  had  scarcely  been  opened  to  her,  and 
she  was  casting  about  her  that  bewildered  look  which 
every  prisoner  wears  when  set  at  liberty,  when  she  was 
accosted  by  a  most  picturesque  young  man.  He  had 
extraordinarily  long  legs,  faded  light  hair,  little  blinking 
eyes  and  a  freckled  face.  His  long,  thin  body  was  clothed 
in  the  latest  and  most  dandified  fashion. 

"Ah!  Miss,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  pronounced  British 
accent,  "  they  did  not  deceive  me,  you  are  very  beauti- 
ful." 

Soleil-Couchant  looked  at  him,  burst  out  laughing,  and 
said 

"  Well,  if  I  am  very  beautiful,  you  are  very  ugly." 

"  All  right,"  said   the   Englishman,  "  but  I  am   Lord 


254  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

B 's  son,  and  I  have  an   income   of  five  thousand 

pounds  sterling." 

"How  much  is  that  in  French  money?"  asked  Soleil- 
Couchant,  becoming  suddenly  interested  in  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  More  than  a  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"Indeed!  Well,  you  are  not  so  ugly  after  all.  What 
can  I  do  for  your  lordship  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  you,  of  your  adventures  and  of  your 
hair.  You  are  all  the  rage  just  now  in  Paris,  and  I  pro- 
pose that  you  come  and  live  with  me." 

"  So  suddenly?  Aren't  you  afraid?  To  live  with  you, 
young  man,  has  been  the  dream  of  my  life;  I  have 
dreamt  of  you  before  knowing  you;  I  loved  you  before 
hearing  the  sound  of  your  enchanting  voice." 

"  Then  nothing  easier  than  to  arrange  it,"  said  the  Eng- 
lishman, quietly,  without  noticing  Soleil-Couchant's  rail- 
lery and  with  the  confidence  which  the  possession  of  a 
large  fortune  gives. 

"Nothing  is  easier,  indeed,"  replied  Soleil-Couchant. 
"  But  in  the  first  place  how  did  you  know  I  was  coming 
out  of  that  establishment  to-day?"  pointing  to  the  walls 
of  the  Conciergerie. 

"Oh!  I  have  friends  everywhere.  Will  you  enter  my 
carriage?     We  can  talk  more  at  our  ease  there." 

" Is  that  your  coupe  over  there?" 

"  It  is  yours,  if  you  will  accept  it." 

"I  accept  everything,"  said  Soleil-Couchant;  "you'll 
soon  find  that  out." 

It  is  easy  to  foresee  the  end  of  a  conversation  begun  in 
this  manner.  The  Englishman  was  as  generous  as  he  was 
ugly.  She  accepted  the  propositions  made  to  her,  and  in 
a  week  she  had  an  elegantly  furnished  apartment,  mag- 
nificent dresses,  and  dined  off  eight  courses. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  255 

In  Paris  it  is  not  rare  to  see  such  sudden  changes  in  the 
existence  of  a  pretty  girl.  Fortune  sometimes  showers 
favors  upon  them,  until  the  hospital  claims  them.  The 
Tarpeian  Rock  looms  up  beside  the  Capitol,  especially  for 
this  sort  of  women. 

Vibert,  in  accordance  with  his  promise  to  Langlade, 
presented  himself  at  Soleil-Couchant's  house.    ■ 

She  recognized  him  at  once,  turned  pale,  and  exclaimed: 

"What  have  I  done  now?  Have  you  come  to  arrest 
me?" 

"  Have  no  fear,"  said  the  agent  of  police,  "  I  simply 
desired  to  congratulate  you  on  your  splendor.  It  is  very 
pretty  here." 

"Really?  you  have  not  come  to  arrest  me?:' 

"  I  come  as  a  friend." 

"  Then  kiss  me,"  she  said,  throwing  her  arms  about  his 
neck. 

She  had  never  been  prettier.  Luxury  agreed  with  her 
marvelously.  She  was  in  morning  toilet.  Her  hair,  which 
since  her  departure  from  prison  she  had  been  able  to  con- 
fide to  the  care  of  a  skillful  hairdresser,  was  more  silky 
and  brilliant  than  ever.  Her  dress  fitted  her  beautiful 
figure  to  perfection. 

Vibert  was  for  a  moment  affected,  let  us  confess  it  to  his 
shame;  but  he  immediately  recovered,  told  Soleil-Cou- 
chant  to  keep  quiet,  and  making  her  sit  down  some  dis- 
tance from  him,  said,  looking  around  the  room: 

"  So  all  this  belongs  to  you?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear;  my  little  Englishman  gave  it  to  me. 
I  have  the  receipted  bills." 

"  You  are  in  the  power  of  an  Englishman,  then?  " 

"  I  am  not  so  stupid.  The  Englishman  is  in  my  power. 
If  you  knew  how  I  manage  him!  You  see,  I  have  been 
beaten  all  my  life;  now  it  is  I  who  beat." 


256  .    fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  That  is  only  just,"  said  Vibert. 

"You  see  that  pretty  whip  with  a  coral  handle?"  con- 
tinued Soleil-Couchant;  "  he  gave  it  to  me  yesterday,  and 
I  told  him  beforehand  the  use  I  was  going  to  make  of 
it." 

"  You  intend  to — "  said  Vibert,  finishing  his  sentence 
with  a  gesture. 

"  Certainly ;  I  intend  from  time  to  time  to  take  exercise 
at  the  expense  of  his  shoulders.  He  likes  it,  too,  and  he 
laughs  like  a  fool.  He  says  to  his  friends:  '  That  little 
French  girl  adores  me,  she  beats  me  like  mad! '" 

"  You  did  not  take  so  good-humoredly  the  little  correc- 
tions Langlade  used  to  administer  to  you,"  observed 
Vibert. 

"  Oh  !  don't  speak  to  me  of  that  blockhead,"  said 
Soleil-Couchant;  "I  can't  even  think  of  him  without  a 
shudder.     Isn't  he  ever  going  to  be  tried?" 

"  Tender  woman's  heart!  "  thought  the  agent  of  police. 
"  And  it  is  for  such  charming  beings  most  often  that  we 
labor  and  suffer." 

"  I  think,"  he  said  aloud,  "  that  his  trial  will  take  place 
in  a  fortnight." 

"  That  is  a  long  way  off,"  said  Soleil-Couchant,  pettishly. 
"  I  shall  not  be  really  at  ease  until  he  is  sentenced.  I 
dreamt  last  night  that  he  took  my  Englishman  by  one 
foot,  turned  him  upside  down,  and  threw  him  out  of  my 
window.  It  was  funny,  but  it  would  seriously  compro- 
mise my  future.     I  have  a  house,  but  I  have  no  income." 

"  You  will  have  one,"  said  Vibert.  "  I  have  no  fears  in 
regard  to  you." 

"Nor  I  either;  I  should  be  pretty  comfortable  if  that 
frightful  giant  had  not  appropriated  five  years  of  my 
life." 

"  You  don't  want  to  see  him,  then?  " 


IN  THE  ETJE  DE  LA  PAIX.  257 

"See  him!  Good  Heavens!"  she  exclaimed,  turning 
pale.  "  Have  you  promised  him  that  again  ?  That 
would  be  outrageous;  do  with  me  what  you  like,  but  not 
that ! " 

"  Be  calm,  my  dear  friend.  Langlade  would  be  glad  to 
see  you;  but  we  will  not  force  you  to  visit  him." 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  that !  " 

"  I  have  simply  promised  to  give  him  news  of  you." 

"  Tell  him  that  I  am  remarkably  well,  that  I  am  growing 
fat  and  rosy,  that  I  amuse  myself  all  the  time  and  I  have 
for  a  lover  the  dearest  little  Englishman,  who  makes  me 
the  happiest  of  women;  there!  If  he  is  not  content,  he 
never  loved  me.  Promise  me  that  you  will  repeat  that  to 
him." 

"No,"  said  Vibert, becoming  serious;  "it would  be  too 
painful  for  the  poor  devil." 

"  Ah !  you  pity  him !  "  said  Soleil-Couchant.  "  It  is  very 
clear  you  have  not  lived  five  years  with  him.  I  am  not 
good,  I  confess;  I  am  not  excessively  tender-hearted — " 

"  Evidently!  "  remarked  Vibert. 

"  But  I  am  not  so  wicked  as  you  seem  to  think.  When 
one  treats  me  well  I  treat  them  well." 

"Humph!"  said  the  agent  of  police. 

"Do  you  want  to  be  very  kind  to  me?"  continued 
Soleil-Couchant. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Don't  speak  any  more  of  my  giant." 

"Very  well;  good-bye!" 

"What!  you  are  going?" 

"  The  Englishman  must  not  find  me  here,"  said  Vibert, 
smiling. 

"Oh!  it  would  not  embarrass  me  much,"  she  replied, 
laughing  outright.  "I  would  like  to  hear  him  say  a 
word.     You  forget  my  whip.     Besides,  it  is  perfectly  un- 

17 


258     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

derstood  between  him  and  me  that  I  am  to  enjoy  the 
fullest  liberty." 

"  In  all  things?  "  asked  Vibert. 

"  In  all  things.  Do  you  think  that  I  am  going  to  amuse 
myself  by  being  faithful  to  a  man?  I  have  got  rid  of  that. 
I  would  prove  it  to  you,  if  you  were  not  so  cold  to  me." 

"What!  Haven't  you  got  over  that?  You  had  better; 
it  is  hopeless." 

She  sat  down  opposite  to  him,  and  said: 

"  You  don't  think  me  pretty,  then  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  charmingly  pretty." 

"  Then  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  I  understand  myself  still  less,"  he  replied. 

"Are  you  in  love  with  another  woman?"  she  asked. 

"  Don't  speak  of  that ! "  said  Vibert,  abruptly. 

"  That  response  is  an  avowal." 

"  Take  it  for  what  you  like." 

"  Well,  if  some  day  you  are  too  unhappy  because  of 
this  woman,  come  to  see  me.  Hearts  are  caught  on  the 
rebound,  says  the  proverb." 

"  That  depends  on  where  they  bound  from,"  said  Vibert. 


XVII. 

One  evening,  an  elegantly  dressed  man,  still  young 
and  of  distinguished  manners  and  appearance,  after  having 
promenaded  for  some  time  up  and  down  the  Boulevard 
des  Italiens,  consulted  his  watch  for  the  tenth  time  within 
an  hour,  entered  the  Passage  de  l'Opera,  bought  a  rose 
and  a  sprig  of  white  lilac,  crossed  the  boulevards,  took 
the  Rue  de  Grammont,  ran  hastily  up  three  flights  of 
stairs  and  entered  a  salon,  where  the  most  charming  of 
women  welcomed  him  with  a  smile. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PALX.  259 

A  few  minutes  after,  another  man,  small,  thin  and 
sickly,  slipped  sadly  into  the  house  and  went  up  the  back 
staircase,  stopping  on  every  step  to  see  if  any  one  was 
coming  down  to  meet  him  or  coming  up  behind  him. 

When  he  reached  the  third  story  he  opened  a  door 
softly,  passed  through,  and  closed  it  noiselessly  behind 
him;  he  advanced  step  by  step,  on  tiptoe,  through  a  little 
dark  corridor,  and  stepped  before  another  door,  through 
the  upper  panel  of  which,  made  of  thick  glass,  glimmered  a 
feeble  light.  Then  he  knelt  on  the  ground  and  sought 
for  the  most  luminous  point  in  the  glass;  he  was  not  slow 
in  finding  it,  and,  placing  his  eye  to  it,  seemed  to  be 
gazing  eagerly  at  something  within. 

A  great  wood  fire,  which  leaped  joyously  up  the  chim- 
ney, and  a  lamp  placed  on  the  table,  lighted  the  salon. 

Savari  occupied  the  sofa  opposite  the  glass  door.  Fedora 
was  seated  by  his  side. 

She  was  still  in  deep  mourning.  Yet  a  careful  con- 
sideration of  certain  details  of  her  toilette  showed  that 
her  mourning  was  less  severe  than  formerly.  Her  dress, 
instead  of  being  closed  at  the  throat,  was  a  trifle  open. 
A  black  lace  scarf  covered  her  shoulders.  Her  beautiful 
black  hair  was  coquettishly  arranged.  A  spray  of  lilac 
was  artistically  arranged  in  her  hair,  on  the  left  side 
of  the  head.  A  rose  was  placed  in  her  bosom.  Certain 
slight  changes  were  also  noticeable  in  Fedora's  expression 
and  manners.  Her  eyes  were  less  keen,  less  bright,  but 
more  tender  and  melting.  There  was  a  certain  animation 
in  her  face,  a  rosy  flush  in  her  cheeks. 

"  Ought  I  to  believe  you  blindly?"  she  was  saying  in 
answer  to  some  remark  of  Savari's;  "can  1  trust  your 
vows?  Men  do  not  consider  promises  made  to  us  binding. 
Are  we  not  made  to  be  deceived?  Oh!  don't  interrupt 
me,  I  know  what  I  am  saying,  I  have  witnessed  more  than 


260  FEDORA  :   OE,  THE  TRAGEDY 

one  treachery.  A  man  marries  a  young,  pure,  honest, 
confiding  girl.  She  does  not  demand  of  him  an  account 
of  his  past;  but  she  wishes  the  present  to  belong  to  her, 
to  her  alone.  She  exacts  a  fidelity  equal  to  her  own;  a 
love  devoted,  absolute,  like  her  own.  In  her  innocence, 
her  ingenuous  faith,  she  does  not  think  that  it  can  be 
otherwise.  No  doubt,  no  suspicion  enters  her  mind. 
Would  she  dream  of  deceiving  the  one  she  loves?  Never  1 
Does  even  the  thought  of  flirting  with  another  man  enter 
her  head  for  a  moment?  No,  it  is  impossible!  And 
while  she  keeps  herself  thus  faithful  and  pure,  even  in 
thought,  the  man  in  whom  she  has  every  trust,  to  whom 
she  has  given  herself  entirely  without  restriction,  meets 
by  chance  a  more  or  less  fascinating  woman,  looks  at  her, 
follows  her,  and  shamelessly  betrays  in  her  arms  the  faith 
sworn  to  another — " 

"  To  another  whom  he  did  not  love,"  said  Savari. 
"  Why  did  he  lie,  then?  Why  did  he  say  he  loved  her?  " 
"  He  believed  it  himself,  perhaps.  Certain  men  live  in 
such  a  calm  and  tranquil  manner,  and  are,  by  tempera- 
ment and  nature,  so  free  from  passion,  that  they  sometimes 
deceive  themselves  as  to  the  state  of  their  heart.  Because 
it  beats  a  little  more  quickly  and  their  thoughts  turn  with 
pleasure  toward  some  particular  person,  they  imagine  they 
are  in  love,  and  cry  it  out  from  the  housetops.  Fools!  " 
continued  Savari,  with  spirit.  "  Have  you  the  right  to 
speak  so,  to  profane  to  such  an  extent  a  sentiment  which 
you  know  nothing  of  ?  The  milk-and-water  love  which  you 
feel  resembles  the  other,  the  true  love,  as  this  fire  before 
us  resembles  the  sun!  You  were  not  made  to  appreciate 
love!  You  would  never  know  its  infinite  happiness,  its 
sorrows  without  number,  its  superhuman  joys,  its  intoler- 
able sufferings,  which  make  one  live  here  on  earth  both 
in  heaven  and  in  hell! " 


IN  THE  KUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  261 

Savari's  countenance  was  wonderfully  animated  as  he 
spoke  thus;  his  face  flushed,  his  eyes  flashed.  There  was 
an  irresistible  fascination  in  his  voice. 

Fedora  could  not  help  admiring  his  manly  beauty,  to 
which  a  certain  almost  feminine  delicacy  lent  an  additional 
charm.  She  did  not  perceive  that  while  speaking,  and 
without  noticing  it  himself,  Savari  had  drawn  nearer  to 
her  and  had  taken  one  of  her  hands  in  his.  The  flame 
of  the  fire  illumined  the  scene  with  fitful  gleams.  The 
lamp  threw  a  soft  light.  The  rose  and  spray  of  lilac 
which  Fedora  wore  perfumed  the  air. 

From  the  other  side  of  the  glass  door,  Vibert,  still 
silent  and  crouching  down,  looked,  listened  and  suffered. 
He  also  admired  Savari.  He  would  have  liked  to  kill 
him,  but  he  was  forced  to  recognize  his  beauty  and  elo- 
quence. 

Savari  continued: 

"  Yes,  the  man  who  deceives  the  woman  whom  he  says 
he  loves,  does  not  love  that  woman.  If  he  loved  her,  he 
would  have  no  look,  no  thought  except  for  her.  The  most 
beautiful  women  ever  made  by  the  Creator  might  throng 
about  him,  enfold  him  in  their  arms,  put  their  perfumed 
lips  to  his,  and  they  would  not  even  tempt  him.  The 
world  would  begin  and  end  for  him  with  that  one  woman. 
Near  her  he  would  forget  the  past,  the  future,  the  daily 
stings,  the  troubles  of  life,  the  sufferings  of  wounded 
pride,  all  mortifications  and  sorrows.  Remorse,  even 
remorse,  that  they  say  is  so  implacable,  could  not  stab 
him;  he  would  cast  it  aside  to  think  of  her  he  loves!  Ah! 
do  not  be  astonished  at  hearing  me  speak  thus.  In  my 
early  life,  so  badly  passed,  I  never  had  any  idea  that  I 
should  speak  in  this  way.  But  I  am  changed  since  I  saw 
you;  I  understand  now  the  most  exalted,  the  truest,  the 
best  love.     I  love  you  with  all  the  strength  of  my  being! 


262      fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

I  love  you  passionately,  madly!  Have  pity  upon  me!  It 
kills  me  to  see  you  and  not  to  dare  to  press  you  to  my 
heart.  Near  you  I  am  as  timid  as  a  child,  and  yet  my 
blood  boils,  my  head  is  on  fire.  Have  mercy,  be  kind, 
decide  my  fate!     Shall  I  die,  or  shall  I  hope?" 

"Hope!"  cried  Fedora,  suddenly.  And  with  that 
Italian  impetuosity  and  ardor,  which  we  know  she  pos- 
sessed, she  threw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  their  lips  met 
in  a  passionate  kiss. 

At  the  same  time  from  the  other  side  of  the  door  came 
a  cry.  Fedora  and  Savari  did  not  hear  it.  To  the  cry 
succeeded  the  sound  of  a  door  violently  shut. 

Vibert  had  fled. 

He  reached  the  street,  and  hesitated  what  to  do.  Then, 
suddenly,  palpitating  and  pallid,  he  crossed  the  Boule- 
vards, followed  the  Rue  Taitbout  and  reached  the  Rue  des 
Trois  Freres. 

He  stopped  before  a  certain  house,  rang  feverishly, 
rushed  past  the  concierge  and  dashed  up  the  stairs. 

It  was  then  eleven  o'clock;  Soleil-Couchant  had 
dismissed  her  Englishman,  whose  chatter  made  her 
nervous. 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  perceiving  Vibert,  "  you,  at  such  an 
hour! " 

"  You  have  offered  me  your  love,"  he  answered,  shortly, 
"  I  accept  it." 

"  I  have  only  one  word  to  say:  you  are  welcome!  " 

Then,  with  extreme  abruptness,  he  drew  her  toward 
him,  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"No!  no!"  he  cried,  suddenly  repulsing  her.  "It  is 
not  her  look;  it  is  not  she.     I  can  not!     Farewell!  " 

"  There  was  no  need  of  coming,"  said  Soleil-Couchant, 
watching  him  depart.  "  I  must  confess,"  she  added,  with 
a  sigh,  "  he  is  a  very  queer  fellow." 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PALX.  263 


XVIII. 

The  trial  of  the  strange  affair,  known  at  the  Palais  de 
Justice  as  "  The  Tragedy  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,"  was 
finally  begun  before  the  Seine  court  of  assizes  in  the 
last  part  of  February,  1848. 

Despite  the  political  excitement  which  had  existed  for 
some  days  in  Paris,  a  large  crowd  assembled  early  in  the 
morning  before  the  doors  of  the  Court-house. 

At  half  past  nine,  those  holding  tickets,  among  whom 
were  many  ladies,  were  admitted  to  the  court  and  seated 
behind  the  benches  reserved  for  the  witnesses.  The 
general  public  were  allowed,  a  short  time  after,  to  enter 
the  place  allotted  to  them. 

Upon  a  long  table  were  placed  a  large  knife  and  a  red 
memorandum  book,  opened  at  the  page  on  which  Maurice 
Vidal  had  traced  a  few  words  with  his  blood. 

A  dozen  or  so  witnesses  had  been  subpoenaed;  but  there 
were  no  witnesses  for  the  defense,  as  the  prisoner  had 
refused  to  mention  any  to  his  counsel. 

The  court  opened  proceedings  at  a  quarter  past  ten. 
The  paneling  of  the  jury  had  taken  place  in  an  ante- 
room. 

Contrary  to  the  reports  which  had  been  circulated, 
Langlade  was  not  handcuffed  nor  did  he  wear  a  strait- 
jacket.  The  president  of  the  court  had  considered  such 
a  measure  useless;  besides,  it  is  only  employed  as  a  last 
resort,  for  the  prisoner,  except  under  very  exceptional  cir- 
cumstances, should  have  every  liberty  of  movement  before 
his  judges. 

Two  gendarmes  entered  with  Langlade,  and  sat  down 
on  either  side  of  him. 

He  did  not  appear  to  be  conscious  of  his  surroundings; 


264.  FEDOKA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

he  was  very  much  broken  down,  and  tried  to  avoid  the 
gaze  of  the  crowd. 

A  certain  disappointment  was  manifested  in  the  audi- 
ence. They  had  expected  to  see  quite  a  different  man 
and  had  hoped  for  scenes  of  violence  at  the  very  begin- 
ning. It  was  whispered  about  that  the  prisoner  was  not 
up  to  his  reputation,  and  that  he  was  intimidated  by  the 
formality  and  dignity  of  the  court. 

The  gendarmes,  who  had  been  ordered  not  to  take 
their  eyes  off  the  prisoner  for  a  single  moment,  wondered 
if  they  had  not  received  useless  instructions  and  whether 
they  might  not  relax  their  vigilance. 

"  Prisoner,  rise,"  said  the  president. 

Langlade  did  not  stir. 

"Gendarmes,"  continued  the  president,  "  aid  the  prisoner 
to  rise." 

The  gendarmes  took  Langlade  by  each  arm,  and  raised 
him  to  his  feet. 

He  looked  at  them  with  an  astonished  but  tranquil  air, 
understood  doubtless  what  was  wanted  of  him,  and  turned 
toward  the  court. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  asked  the  president. 

"  Hector  Langlade,"  replied  the  prisoner. 

"Your  age?" 

"  Thirty-six." 

"You  were  born  in  the  department  of  Vaucluse?" 

"Yes,  near  Avignon." 

"  You  have  been  twice  convicted ;  your  first  sentence 
was  five  years,  and  your  second  twenty  years  with  hard 
labor." 

"  That  is  possible." 

"You  escaped  twice  from  the  galleys  of  Toulon  and 
Brest?  " 

"  Yes." 


IN  THE   RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  265 

"  When  you  were  arrested  last,  you  lived  at  No.  22  Rue 
Croix  des  Petits  Champs?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  The  indictment  against  you  will  now  be  read,"  said 
the  president. 

The  prisoner  sank  back  in  his  seat,  threw  his  head 
backward,  and  half  closed  his  eyes. 

The  clerk  read  the  indictment. 

We  will  pass  over  in  silence  this  document,  since  our 
readers  already  know  Langlade's  life  and  the  charge 
against  him. 

When  the  reading  was  ended,  the  names  of  the  wit- 
nesses were  called. 

At  the  name  of  Stephanie  Cornu,  alias  Soleil-Couchant, 
Langlade  opened  his  eyes,  turned  pale,  but  did  not  move 
his  head. 

The  witnesses  retired  to  the  room  reserved  for  them ; 
the  president  turned  to  the  examination  of  the  prisoner, 
and  asked  him  again  to  rise. 

"  What  for?  "  demanded  Langlade. 

"  To  answer  the  questions  I  am  about  to  put  to  you." 

"It  is  useless,  then,"  said  Langlade,  "for  I  am  not 
going  to  reply." 

There  was  a  slight  murmur  in  the  crowd,  at  once  re- 
pressed by  the  president;  they  were  commencing  to  under- 
stand that  the  prisoner  was  not,  perhaps,  so  peaceable  as 
he  looked. 

"  Prisoner,"  said  the  president,  very  kindly,  "  it  is  my 
duty  to  tell  you  that  you  will  injure  your  case  in  the 
minds  of  the  jury,  if  you  persist  in  such  an  action." 

"  I  have  confessed  my  crime,"  said  Langlade.  "  What 
more  do  you  want?  " 

"  We  wish  to  know  from  yourself,  without  having  to 
depend  exclusively  upon  witnesses,  the  way  in  which  the 


266  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

crime  was  committed.  I  repeat  to  you,  you  can  not  ac- 
quire the  indulgence  of  the  jury  and  the  court  unless  you 
conform  to  the  practice  of  the  court." 

"  I  don't  ask  any  one's  indulgence,"  said  Langlade, 
without  raising  his  voice.  "  Send  me  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible to  the  scaffold,  that  is  all  that  I  want." 

The  attorney  appointed  by  the  court  to  defend  the 
prisoner  leaned  toward  him  and  tried  to  persuade  him  to 
listen  to  reason,  but  without  avail. 

The  president,  after  having  waited  patiently  for  the 
colloquy  to  end,  decided  that,  as  the  accused  refused  to 
answer  and  as  the  court  had  no  means  of  compelling  him 
to  do  so,  they  would  proceed  to  the  examination  of  the 
witnesses. 

The  first  witness  called  to  the  stand  was  Madame  Vidal. 

The  greatest  interest  was  manifested  in  the  court  room. 
The  president  begged  the  witness  to  conquer  her  natural 
emotion  and  to  answer  the  questions  he  was  unfortunately 
obliged  to  put  to  her. 

Fedora  Vidal  related  her  arrival  in  Paris,  the  difficulty 
she  experienced  in  entering  her  apartment  and  the  state 
in  which  she  found  it.  She  answered  many  other  ques- 
tions with  more  calmness  than  might  have  been  antici- 
pated. 

When  her  examination,  which  the  president  made  as 
short  as  possible,  was  over,  Madame  Vidal  asked  if  she 
would  be  obliged  to  remain  in  court  until  the  end. 

The  president,  after  consulting  the  jury  and  the  counsel 
for  the  prisoner,  authorized  Fedora  to  retire. 

She  bowed  with  dignity  and  left  the  court  room. 

The  second  witness  heard  was  the  concierge  of  No.  6 
Rue  de  la  Paix.  His  testimony  was  the  same  he  had 
formerly  given  to  the  examining  magistrate.  We  will 
not  repeat  it. 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  267 

The  counsel  for  the  defense  asked  the  jury  to  remark 
that  the  witness  had  seen  no  one  go  up  to  Maurice  Vidal's 
apartment  on  the  19th  of  October. 

"  If  Langlade  had  entered  the  house,"  added  the  attor- 
ney, "he  must  have  been  perceived;  his  imposing  stature 
would  have  betrayed  him." 

This  question  was  discussed  by  the  prosecuting  attor- 
ney and  the  counsel  for  the  defense. 

Langlade,  who  had  been  silent  up  to  this  point,  suddenly 
manifested  great  impatience,  and  exclaimed: 

"  What  is  the  use  of  all  this?  I  tell  you  it  was  I  who 
did  it.     Finish  it  up!" 

"  Prisoner,"  said  the  president,  firmly,  "  you  have  re- 
fused to  speak  and  answer  us,  and  I  can  not  permit  you 
to  interrupt  the  proceedings  now.  Your  lawyer  is  defend- 
ing you  as  well  as  he  can;  his  task  is  no  easy  one  as  it  is; 
do  not  render  it  impossible." 

The  prosecuting  attorney  tried  in  his  turn  to  explain  to 
the  prisoner  that  his  confession  was  not  sufficient  for  the 
court.     He  concluded  by  saying: 

"  When  a  criminal,  horrified  at  his  misdeeds,  abandons 
his  cause,  the  law,  which  is  always  protecting,  still  under- 
takes his  defense! " 

This  display  of  oratory  made  no  impression  upon 
Langlade,  who  contented  himself  this  time  with  a  shrug 
of  the  shoulders. 

To  the  preceding  witness  succeeded  several  lodgers  in 
No.  6  Rue  de  la  Paix.  Their  testimony  went  to  show 
that  there  had  been  no  particular  disturbance  or  noise 
during  the  night  of  October  19th. 

A  man  named  Jacquet,  the  concierge  of  the  house  in 
the  Rue  Neuve-Saint-  Augustin,  in  which  Stephanie  Cornu 
lived,  declared  that  he  saw  a  young  man  go  up  to  her 
apartments,  one  evening  in  the  month  of  October.     He 


268     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

could  not  fix  the  date  exactly.  The  description  ha 
gave  of  this  individual  was  very  like  Maurice  Vidal's 
appearance. 

The  counsel  for  the  defense,  however,  directed  attention 
to  the  fact  that,  according  to  the  witness'  testimony,  the 
individual  in  question  was  below  the  average  height. 
The  people  who  knew  Maurice  Vidal,  on  the  contrary, 
all  agreed  that,  without  being  tall,  he  had  never  been 
considered  a  short  man. 

"  What  led  you  to  suppose,"  asked  the  president  of  the 
witness,  "  that  the  person  of  whom  you  speak  went  up  to 
Stephanie  Cornu's  apartment?" 

"  I  saw  him  talking  with  her,  the  evening  before,  in 
the  doorway." 

"  Then  he  did  not  ask  you  on  what  floor  your  lodger 
lived?" 

"No,  Monsieur;  she  had  probably  told  him  herself." 

"  Was  the  girl  Stephanie  Cornu  in  the  habit  of  receiv- 
ing strange  gentlemen?" 

"No;  I  had  never  before  seen  anyone  with  her  except 
Monsieur,"  indicating  Langlade. 

"  And  when  the  prisoner  arrived  shortly  after,  did  he 
speak  to  you?" 

"  Yes,  Monsieur;  he  asked  me  if  Mademoiselle  was  at 
home.  I  was  afraid  there  would  be  a  row,  and  I  an- 
swered that  she  was  out." 

"  And  yet  he  went  up?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur;  he  would  not  trust  me." 

"And  did  you  see  him  go  out  again?" 

"  About  half  an  hour  afterward ;  he  was  a  few  steps 
behind  the  other  person.  I  thought  they  knew  each 
other." 

"  Did  the  prisoner  appear  agitated?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  but  I  did  not  think  anything  of  that. 


IN   THE   RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  269 

He  often  quarreled  with  my  lodger;  as  a  rule,  when  he 
left  her,  he  was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement." 

"  Have  you  ever  had  to  suffer,  personally,  from  his 
violence?" 

"  Oh!  very  often,  Monsieur;  he  threatened  once  to  throw 
me  out  of  the  window." 

At  this  declaration,  there  was  much  laughter  in  the 
place  reserved  for  the  public. 

"I  declare,  for  the  last  time,"  exclaimed  the  president, 
''that  I  will  rigorously  repress  all  demonstrations,  of 
whatever  nature  they  may  be." 

Quiet  being  again  restored,  the  president  said  to  the 
witness: 

"Then,  in  your  opinion,  the  prisoner  was  extremely 
violent?" 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  but  he  was  not  a  bad  fellow,  after  all. 
When  his  anger  was  over  he  would  ask  my  pardon,  and 
would  always  slip  into  my  hand  forty  or  fifty  sous." 

For  fear  of  fatiguing  our  readers,  we  will  pass  over 
certain  important  testimony,  with  the  details  of  which 
they  are  already  acquainted,  such  as  that  of  the  commis- 
sary of  police  of  the  Tuileries,  of  the  physician  and  of 
Vibert,  and  come  at  once  to  the  examination  of  Soleil- 
Couchant.  This  witness  will  tell  us  nothing  we  do  not 
already  know,  but  she  changed  in  a  startling  manner  the 
attitude  of  the  accused,  and  prepared  the  way  for  the 
singular  incident  which  terminated  the  trial  in  a  most 
unexpected  manner. 

As  might  have  been  expected  of  such  a  creature, 
Soleil-Couchant  had  arrayed  herself  for  the  occasion  in 
her  richest  and  most  striking  toilette.  When  her  name 
was  called,  she  advanced  without  hesitation,  smiling  at  all 
those  whose  eye  she  caught. 

The  prisoner,  still  in  the  same  position,  did  not  turn 


270     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

his  head.  He  did  not  open  his  half- closed  eyes.  It  seemed 
as  if  he  was  as  indifferent  to  the  new  witness  as  to  the 
others. 

But  an  experienced  physiognomist  would  have  noticed 
certain  significant  signs;  Langlade's  brow  was  set  in  a 
frown,  his  lips  were  pale,  and  his  fingers  drummed  ner- 
vously on  the  rail  before  him. 

" Do  you  know  the  prisoner?"  asked  the  president  of 
Soleil-Couchant,  after  the  usual  preliminaries. 

"Oh!  yes,  Monsieur,  very  well.  Altogether  too  well." 
she  added,  with  a  smile. 

"  You  can  spare  us  any  superfluous  remarks,"  said  the 
president.  "'Very  well'  was  enough.  You  would  do 
well  also  to  try  to  be  more  serious.  Do  not  forget  that 
you  are  before  a  court  of  justice,  and  that  you  have 
already  yourself  appeared  here  in  the  dock.  Now,  tell 
us  all  that  you  know  in  regard  to  the  unfortunate  man 
you  attracted  by  your  coquetries.  When  you  have  fin- 
ished, I  will  ask  you  various  questions.     You  can  begin." 

Soleil-Couchant,  turning  sometimes  to  the  court,  some- 
times to  the  jury,  and  sometimes  to  Langlade — in  a  word, 
to  use  a  theatrical  expression,  posing  for  the  gallery — 
repeated  all  that  we  have  already  heard  her  say  to  Vibert. 
Her  flowery  language,  the  coarseness  of  certain  expres- 
sions, and  the  manner  in  which  she  heaped  insult  upon 
her  former  lover,  caused  many  times  murmurs  in  the 
court  room,  which  the  president,  although  sharing  the 
general  indignation,  was  obliged  to  repress. 

Langlade  alone,  doubtless  habituated  to  Soleil-Cou- 
chant's  reproaches  and  complaints,  showed  no  anger 
whatever.  He  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  to  take  pleasure 
in  the  very  sound  of  her  voice.  He  had  gradually, 
despite  himself,  turned  toward  her  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
her.     There  was  no  hatred,  nor  contempt,  nor  anger  in  his 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  271 

look.  In  it  were  to  be  read  rather  sadness,  regret  and 
admiration. 

After  having  answered  all  the  questions  addressed  to 
her  by  the  president,  and  received  a  severe  and  just  admo- 
nition, Stephanie  Cornu  returned  to  her  place.  She  smiled 
as  graciously  as  ever  upon  the  court,  the  jury,  the  lawyers 
and  the  public,  and  did  not  appear  to  be  in  the  least 
conscious  of  the  bad  impression  she  had  produced. 

The  president  examined  two  more  witnesses,  and  then 
announced  an  adjournment  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

The  gendarmes  retired  with  their  prisoner,  and  a  gen- 
eral hum  of  conversation  began. 

Soleil-Couchant  tried  to  converse  with  her  neighbors; 
but,  through  a  feeling  of  shame,  even  the  men  drew  away 
from  her.  It  was  useless  for  her  to  throw  her  most  fascinat- 
ing glances  at  the  young  barristers,  for  these  gentlemen 
drew  their  gowns  about  them,  pulled  their  wigs  over  their 
eyes,  and  were,  for  the  time  being,  invulnerable.  Her 
isolation  was  beginning  to  weigh  upon  her,  when  all  at 
once  she  perceived  h^r  young  Englishman,  who  had  taken 
advantage  of  the  recess  and  a  dearly-bought  permission 
to  slip  into  the  court  room.  She  beckoned  him  to  her 
immediately,  made  him  sit  down  by  her  side,  and  entered 
into  a  lively  and  animated  conversation  with  him.  The 
Englishman  was  overwhelmed  with  delight,  and  grinned 
from  ear  to  ear. 

A  bell  rang  and  the  crier  announced  the  entrance  of 
the  court  and  the  end  of  the  recess. 

The  prisoner's  first  look,  on  his  re-entrance,  was  for 
Soleil-Couchant.  He  perceived  at  the  same  time  the 
young  man  with  whom  she  was  chatting,  more  and  more 
familiarly. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  rose,  and  commenced  his 
speech  for  the  prosecution,  in  these  words: 


272      fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury: — In  undertaking  my  present 
task,  I  can  not  prevent  a  certain  feeling  of  sadness,  for  I 
must  demand  of  you  a  verdict,  the  consequences  of  which 
will  be  terrible.  But  I  must  silence  my  scruples  and 
remember  that  I  am  only  the  servant  of  society  outraged 
by  a  heinous  crime,  and  the  avenger  of  a  murdered  man ! 
My  task  is  difficult,  I  know,  but  I  will  try  to  fulfill  it  to  the 
best  of  my  ability.  In  the  first  place,  gentlemen,  you 
must  know  all  about  this  man  who  is  before  you  in  the 
dock  and  whom  you  are  called  upon  to  judge." 

The  prosecuting  attorney  then  took  Langlade  from  his 
birth,  followed  his  life  step  by  step,  and  showed,  in  the 
most  eloquent  manner,  that  he  had  always  been  the  slave 
of  the  most  execrable  passions,  and  that  he  had  never 
respected  either  civil  or  moral  laws.  He  described  at 
length,  with  fiery  indignation  and  with  the  harshest  criti- 
cism of  the  prisoner,  his  long  liaison  with  the  girl  called 
Soleil-Couchant,  the  principal  cause  of  his  crimes  and  his 
ruin.  Finally,  he  grouped  together  the  different  facts 
which  established  in  an  irrefutable  manner  Langlade's 
guilt.  He  ended  by  declaring  that  the  prisoner  was  wor- 
thy of  no  consideration,  and  he  hoped  that  the  jury,  faith- 
ful to  its  duty,  would  silence  its  scruples,  and  remember- 
ing the  victim,  punish  the  murderer. 

During  the  speech,  Langlade  showed  by  certain  ges- 
tures his  impatience  and  irritation.  Those  who  noticed 
his  emotion  attributed  it  to  the  resentment  the  prisoner 
must  feel  at  being  so  abused  by  the  prosecuting  attorney; 
but  skillful  observers  would  have  found  other  reasons  for 
the  exasperation  he  seemed  to  feel. 

The  counsel  for  the  defense  now  arose.  Like  his  oppo- 
nent, he  went  back  to  the  prisoner's  youth,  but  he  took 
pains  to  show  that  this  youth,  deprived  of  all  good  coun- 
sel, sad  and  desolate,  was  a  plea  in  favor  of  his  client. 


IN"  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  273 

"  My  learned  brother,"  he  exclaimed,  "  has  been  pleased 
to  paint  this  man  as  a  prey  to  the  most  execrable  passions, 
as  given  up  to  all  vices.  But  I  seek  for  these  vices  and 
I  do  not  find  them;  the  man  I  am  defending  is  not  a 
gambler,  he  is  not  a  drunkard,  he  is  not  a  libertine.  No, 
he  is  not  a  libertine,  for  one  passion  alone  has  dominated 
his  life,  that  which  he  felt  for  the  woman  whose  utter 
depravity  and  fatal  beauty  you  have  been  able  to  remark. 
If  he  had  never  met  that  woman,  he  would  have  been, 
perhaps,  an  honest  laborer;  and  if  that  woman,  instead  of 
being  a  wretch,  had  shown  any  decent  kindness  to  the 
man  who  loved  her,  Langlade  would  not  be  here!  But 
do  you  not  see,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  in  my  client's  per- 
sistent refusal  to  defend  himself,  the  horrible  suffering 
he  has  undergone,  the  profound  disgust  he  feels  for  life, 
the  discouragement  which  has  taken  complete  possession  of 
him?  The  prosecuting  attorney  calls  this  remorse;  but  I 
believe  that  it  is  love — hopeless,  despairing  love!  And 
my  conscience,  gentlemen,  orders  me  to  defend  this 
unfortunate,  unhappy  being,  who  repulses  me  and  does 
not  wish  to  be  defended.  He  says  he  is  guilty.  Well!  I 
say  that  he  simply  wishes  to  die,  and  I  maintain  that  to 
condemn  him  would  be  lending  help  to  a  suicide.  You 
can  not  do  it;  you  have  no  right  to  do  it!  " 

These  eloquent  words  appeared  to  produce  a  profound 
impression. 

Langlade  made  a  gesture,  as  if  to  say: 

"  He  is  a  good  fellow  to  give  himself  so  much  trouble." 

Then  he  turned  toward  Soleil-Couchant,  who,  more  and 
more  coquettish,  was  darting  affectionate  glances  at  her 
young  Englishman. 

The  attorney  now  reviewed  with  great  »implioity  and 
incontestable  talent,  the  different  details,  which,  in  big 
opinion,  were  not  sufficiently  olear.    He  endeavored,  e»pee- 

18 


274  FEDORA :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

ially,  to  prove  that  Maurice  Vidal,  in  spite  of  the  prosecut- 
ing attorney,  could  not  have  known  Langlade,  and,  if  he 
did  not,  he  would  not  have  thought  of  writing  his  mur- 
derer's name.  He  recalled  also  that  the  man  murdered  by 
Langlade  was,  according  to  the  story  of  Stephanie  Cornu, 
and  that  of  the  concierge  of  the  Rue  Neuve-Saint-Augus- 
tin,  a  man  with  a  florid  complexion,  while,  from  the  testi- 
mony of  all  who  had  known  him,  Maurice  Vidal  was  pro- 
verbially pale. 

"  There  is  in  this  affair,"  continued  the  lawyer,  "  some- 
thing strange  and  mysterious,  which,  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
should  make  you  hesitate.  A  crime  has  been  committed, 
a  man  confesses  his  guilt,  and  certain  circumstances 
are  against  him,  I  confess.  Well!  despite  that  confes- 
sion, despite  these  circumstances,  I  should  hesitate,  gen- 
tlemen, upon  my  honor.  Or,  rather,  no,  I  should  not  hesi- 
tate, I  should  acquit  this  man!  I  would  prefer  to  allow 
a  criminal  to  go  unpunished,  rather  than  have  to  deplore 
all  my  life  the  death  of  an  innocent  man!  I  can  not  for- 
get those  words  of  one  of  our  greatest  orators:  'When 
God  does  not  give  to  men  complete  proof  of  a  crime,  it  is 
a  sign  that  he  does  not  wish  to  make  them  the  judges 
of  it,  but  reserves  the  decision  for  His  Supreme  Tribu- 
nal!'" 

When  every  one  thought  this  eloquent  plea  was  ended, 
and  a  sort  of  a  murmur  of  approbation  ran  through  the 
assembly,  the  counsel  for  the  defense,  to  quote  the  news- 
papers of  the  day,  produced  one  of  the  most  startling  and 
dramatic  effects  imaginable. 

He  turned  suddenly  to  the  prisoner,  seized  his  hands, 
and  adjured  him  to  declare  that  he  was  not  guilty.  A 
shudder  of  excitement  ran  through  the  crowd.  Every- 
one held  his  breath.  Langlade  alone  seemed  unmoved 
by  the  efforts  of  his  counsel  to  save  him.     His  eyes  were 


IN  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  275 

fixed  steadily  upon  Soleil-Couchant.  Suddenly  he 
thought  he  saw  the  Englishman  put  his  arm  around  the 
waist  of  his  mistress  and  that  she  was  almost  leaning  her 
head  on  the  shoulder  of  her  new  lover. 

He  could  not  bear  such  a  sight;  terrible  thoughts  of 
vengeance  flashed  through  his  brain,  and  snatching  his 
hands  violently  away  from  the  clasp  of  his  lawyer,  he  cried: 

"  Well,  no!     I  am  not  guilty!  " 

There  was  the  greatest  excitement  in  the  court  room. 
Two  or  three  persons  rose  to  their  feet. 

But  the  first  words  of  the  president  restored  quiet. 

"You  are  a  little  late,"  he  said  to  the  prisoner,  "in 
declaring  to  us  your  innocence.  You  have  refused  hitherto 
to  answer  our  questions,  and  it  looks  as  if  you  had  held 
back  simply  to  produce  an  effect.  We  beg  the  gentlemen 
of  the  jury,  therefore,  to  be  on  their  guard.  If  you  are 
innocent,  why  didn't  you  say  so  sooner?  " 

"Because,"  exclaimed  Langlade,  "I  thought  I  was 
guilty!" 

"  You  thought  you  were  guilty! "  cried  the  president,  in 
astonishment.  "  You  believed  you  had  murdered  a  man, 
when  you  had  not?" 

"  Yes,  I  did  kill  a  man,  but  I  did  not  kill  your  Maurice 
Vidal." 

"What  was  the  name  of  the  man  you  killed?" 

"  I  don't  know,  but  it  was  not  that." 

"  What  has  made  you  think  so?" 

"What  this  gentleman  has  said,"  replied  Langlade, 
pointing  to  the  counsel  for  the  defense.  "  He  spoke  for 
an  hour  of  the  blood  which  flowed  from  the  wound,  the 
knife  with  which  the  man  was  struck,  of  a  study,  a  bed- 
room and  a  lot  of  things  which  can  not  be  true,  since  I 
struck  the  fellow  with  my  fist — yes,  with  my  fist,  and  I 
struck  him  in  a  doorway,  and  not  in  a  room." 


276     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"  We  beg  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury  to  remark  the  im- 
probability of  this  story,"  said  the  president. 

"The  improbability!  "  cried  the  prisoner.  "What  rea- 
son could  I  have  for  saying  that  I  killed  one  man  rather 
than  another?     I  shall  be  condemned,  all  the  same!  " 

"  Yes,  but  you  may  hope  to  postpone  your  sentence." 

"  If  I  had  wished  to  do  that,  I  should  have  spoken  in 
the  beginning.     You  are  a  fool !  " 

Without  deigning  to  notice  Langlade's  disrespect,  the 
president  asked  him  why  he  defended  himself  at  this  late 
hour. 

"  That  is  my  secret,"  said  Langlade,  with  a  stealthy 
look  of  hatred  at  Soleil-Couchant. 

"  Was  it  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  that  you  killed  the  man 
of  whom  you  speak?  " 

"  Yes,  I  don't  know  the  number,  but  it  was  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix." 

"  What  time  was  it?  " 

"  About  six  o'clock  in  the  evening." 

"  And  in  Ootober?  " 

"  Yes,  the  last  part  of  October." 

"  Well,  you  have  pronounced  your  own  sentence.  No 
man  except  Maurice  Vidal  was  murdered  in  the  Rue  de 
la  Paix  in  October,  or  in  September  or  November." 

At  this  moment  a  member  of  the  jury  rose  and  asked 
the  president  if  he  might  make  a  remark. 

"  Certainly,  Monsieur." 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  call  the  attention  of  the  court,"  pro- 
ceeded the  member  of  the  jury,  "to  a  fact  which  has 
escaped  its  memory,  or  which  it  never  knew,  perhaps. 
Last  October,  a  few  days  before  the  murder  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix,  one  of  my  friends  was  found  dead  in  a  door- 
way of  that  street.  There  was  no  trace  found  of  a  wound 
upon  him  which  could  allow  of  any  suspicion  of  a  crime, 


IN  THE  HUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  277 

and  it  was  supposed,  that,  being  exceptionally  full-blooded, 
he  had  been  struck  with  apoplexy.  I  must  add  that  on 
the  left  temple  was  a  large  black  mark.  I  was  the  first 
to  think  and  say  that  when  my  friend  fell,  his  head  must 
have  struck  the  pavement.  I  now  think  that  the  prisoner's 
heavy  fist  made  the  mark  and  caused  death." 

These  words,  spoken  by  a  man  who  appeared  respect- 
able, and  whose  position  on  the  jury  gave  him  great 
importance,  produced  a  great  effect. 

Every  one  whispered  to  his  neighbor. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  consulted  with  the  president. 

Several  of  the  jurymen  questioned  their  colleague  who 
had  spoken. 

Langlade,  without  losing  sight  of  Soleil-Couchant,  spoke 
with  his  lawyer. 

The  proceedings,  without  being  regularly  suspended, 
were  interrupted. 

Little  by  little  quiet  was  restored,  and  the  prosecuting 
attorney  spoke  as  follows: 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  court:  In  view  of  what  has  occurred 
and  of  the  opinion  which  a  member  of  the  jury  has  ex- 
pressed in  regard  to  the  case  before  us,  we  think  it  best 
to  postpone  the  matter  to  another  session." 

The  court  retired  to  deliberate. 

Shortly  after,  the  magistrates  returned  to  the  bench, 
and  the  president  said: 

"  The  court,  after  deliberation,  agrees  with  the  prose- 
cuting attorney,  and  postpones  the  trial  to  another  ses- 
sion.    Gendarmes,  remove  the  prisoner." 

The  assembly  rose  and  left  the  court  room  in  the 
greatest  excitement. 


278  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 


XIX. 

The  day  after  the  trial,  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, Vibert  went  to  the  Rue  de  Gramraont.  This  time, 
instead  of  taking  every  precaution  not  to  be  seen  by 
the  servants  of  the  house,  he  passed  in  full  sight  of  the 
concierge  and  mounted  the  grand  staircase. 

His  face  wore  an  anxious  expression,  his  pallor  was 
extreme,  his  whole  person  bore  the  impress  of  deep 
trouble ;  he  had  aged  many  years  in  three  months.  But 
he  seemed  to  be  possessed  by  a  new  idea.  His  mouth, 
usually  serious,  wore  a  smile;  his  expression  was  more 
animated  than  usual;  there  was  something  about  him  at 
once  sad,  malevolent  and  satisfied.  He  appeared  to 
suffer  still,  but  to  be  near  the  end  of  his  sufferings.  The 
horizon  was  still  cloudy,  but  less  dubious.  He  was  walk- 
ing toward  an  abyss,  perhaps,  but  he  saw  the  abyss  and 
he  knew  the  road  which  led  to  it.  He  might  have  been 
compared  to  the  soldier  who,  after  a  long  skirmishing 
campaign,  can  at  last  fight  in  the  open  field.  He  sees  a 
long  line  of  enemies  before  him,  he  knows  that  he  will 
perish,  but  he  will  enjoy  for  a  moment  the  bitter  pleasure 
of  seeing  his  enemy,  of  rushing  against  him  and  of  strik- 
ing him  mortally,  perhaps,  before  falling  under  his  blows. 

When  he  reached  the  floor  on  which  Fedora  lived, 
Vibert  rang  without  hesitating. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  your  mistress,"  he  said  to  Marietta, 
who  looked  at  him  with  astonishment. 

"  Enter  the  salon,  Monsieur,  and  I  will  tell  Madame; 
she  is  dressing." 

Alone  in  the  salon  where  he  had  not  set  foot  for  so 
long,  he  was  strangely  moved.  Every  object  recalled  some 
memory.     At  that  window,  she  had  one  day  suddenly 


IN  THE   KTJE  DE  LA   PAIX.  279 

seized  his  hands,  exclaiming:  "  You  will  be  devoted  to  me, 
will  you  not?  You  will  aid  me  to  avenge  him?  "  Another 
time,  near  that  door,  forgetting  that  beneath  the  agent  of 
police  was  a  man,  and  that  such  familiarity  might  be  dan- 
gerous, she  had,  in  one  of  those  moments  of  despair  when 
decorum  disappears,  rested  her  hand  on  Vibert's  shoulder 
and  wept  against  his  heart.  Here  she  smiled  upon  him, 
there  she  thanked  him  for  his  good  advice. 

Yes,  it  was  in  this  room  that  his  love  had  gradually  in- 
creased, and  had  become  a  formidable  and  unconquerable 
passion.  If  Fedora  had  entered  at  that  moment,  perhaps 
Vibert  would  have  given  up  the  design  he  had  nourished 
since  the  day  before,  and  which  was  the  reason  of  his 
bitter  smile.  He  would  have  pardoned  Fedora  for  what 
she  had  made  him  suffer,  in  consideration  of  the  fleeting 
moments  of  happiness  she  had  given  him.  But,  all  at 
once,  the  glance  of  the  agent  of  police  fell  upon  the  sofa 
where  Madame  Vidal  usually  sat  beside  Savari.  The  last 
scene  which  he  had  witnessed,  and  which  had  taken  away 
his  reason  for  a  moment,  returned  to  his  mind.  He  forgot 
the  good  and  recalled  only  the  evil,  and  he  swore  to  be  as 
merciless  toward  others  as  they  had  been  merciless  toward 
him. 

Madame  Vidal  entered  the  salon,  and  without  inviting 
Vibert  to  be  seated,  said  to  him: 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  again." 

This  frigid  welcome  did  not  astonish  the  agent  of  po- 
lice; he  was  too  intelligent  not  to  have  expected  it.  He 
knew  that  Fedora  must  hate  him  for  having  once  sus- 
pected of  a  crime  the  man  she  now  loved.  She  had 
formed  these  suspicions  at  the  same  time  as  himself  and 
had  shared  them  with  him ;  but  this  was  a  reason  for  all 
the  more  detesting  the  accomplice  whom  she  did  not  ac- 
knowledge to-day  and  before  whom  she  was  ashamed. 


280  FEDORA  :    OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

"  Madame,"  replied  Vibert,  dryly,  to  Fedora's  welcome, 
"  I  have  suddenly  ceased  to  see  you,  because  my  business 
with  you  was  ended.  Chance  made  me  discover  your 
husband's  murderer;  I  could  arrest  him  and  deliver  him 
to  the  authorities  without  aid  from  any  one,  and  your 
help,  which  was  so  necessary  and  so  valuable  to  me, 
when  Monsieur  Savari  was  in  question,  had  become 
useless  to  me." 

Each  of  these  words,  intentionally  emphasized  by  Vi- 
bert, stabbed  Fedora  to  the  heart;  she  answered,  harshly: 

"Well,  since  my  help  is  no  longer  needed,  why — " 

"  "Why,"  said  he,  finishing  Fedora's  sentence,  "  have  I 
the  boldness  to  present  myself  before  you  to-day?  For 
a  very  simple  reason,  and  you  shall  know  it,  Madame,  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  sit  down  a  moment." 

She  made  no  reply,  but,  comprehending  the  implied 
rebuke,  she  took  a  chair,  so  that  Vibert  might  follow  her 
example. 

"  You  were  present  at  the  trial  yesterday,"  said  Vibert, 
who  had  determined  to  commence  the  battle. 

"  A  part  of  the  time,"  replied  Fedora;  "  the  president 
permitted  me  to  retire  after  giving  my  evidence." 

"  Then  you  do  not  know,  Madame,  how  it  ended?" 

"  I  do  not;  and  if  you  have  come  to  tell  me,  it  is  need- 
less. I  shall  know  soon  enough,  and  besides,  the  result 
can  easily  be  guessed.  When  we  were  working  to  dis- 
cover my  husband's  murderer,  you  found  me  brave  and 
strong;  to-day  the  murderer  is  arrested,  he  will  be  pun- 
ished for  his  crime,  he  belongs  to  justice,  and  I  have  no 
longer  any  interest  in  him." 

"Very  well,  Madame,  I  will  not  tell  you  the  result, 
since  you  think  you  know  it.  I  will  only  ask  your  per- 
mission to  speak  of  certain  things  that  took  place  after 
your  departure.     In   the   first  place,"  continued  Vibert, 


IN  THE  RUE   DE  LA  PALX.  281 

very  slowly,  "  it  was  established  beyond  a  doubt  that 
your  husband  had  never  set  foot  in  the  house  of  the 
woman  called  Soleil-Couchant." 

"  Ah!  "  exclaimed  Fedora,  turning  pale. 

The  first  blow  which  the  agent  of  police  dealt  her  was 
a  terrible  one.  If,  some  weeks  before,  any  one  had  said 
to  Madame  Vidal,  "your  husband  has  been  outrageously 
slandered;  he  was  always  faithful  to  you,  and  did  not 
even  know  the  name  of  the  woman  whose  lover  he  was 
believed  to  be,"  she  would  have  felt  the  greatest  joy. 

But  now  her  husband's  faithlessness  was  her  only 
excuse  for  having  yielded  to  another  love,  and  this  excuse 
failed  her.  For  a  moment,  as  this  thought  assailed  her, 
she  felt  the  deepest  remorse;  then  she  became  a  little 
calmer,  and  she  said  to  Vibert: 

"How  could  the  magistrates  have  been  so  mistaken? 
What  other  sentiment  than  jealousy  could  have  led  Lang- 
lade to  kill  my  husband?  " 

"  He  did  not  kill  him,"  answered  Vibert. 

"He  did  not  kill  him!  What  do  you  say?  Didn't  he 
confess  his  crime  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  an  error ;  he  did  kill  a  man,  but  he  did 
not  know  his  name,  and  he  thought  he  had  killed  your 
husband.  Here,  Madame,  read  the  Law  Journal,  and 
you  will  see  the  end  of  this  curious  trial,  at  which  you 
did  not  think  it  best  to  remain." 

Fedora  took  with  a  trembling  hand  the  paper  "Vibert 
offered  her.  She  was  far  from  divining  what  Vibert  was 
driving  at,  but  she  felt  instinctively  that  she  was  threatened 
by  some  grave  misfortune.  After  reading  the  report,  she 
remained  buried  in  reflection  and  the  paper  slipped  from 
her  hands.  Vibert  picked  it  up,  folded  it,  and  placed  it 
carefully  in  his  pocket. 

"  So  we  have  got  to  begin  over  again,"  he  said. 


282  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

Fedora  raised  her  head  quickly. 

"Begin  what  over  again?"  she  asked. 

"  Why,"  replied  Vibert,  quietly,  "  the  murderer  is  not 
discovered,  and  yet  there  must  be  a  murderer.  We  must, 
therefore,  begin  our  search  again." 

"  That  is  the  law's  business,"  she  said,  briefly;  "  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  How  quickly  you  are  discouraged,  Madame." 

She  gave  him  a  haughty  look,  and  answered: 

"  You  will  be  kind  enough,  Monsieur,  to  spare  me  your 
observations." 

"  Good  Heavens!  Madame,"  he  replied,  "if  I  deplore 
your  seeming  discouragement,  it  is  because  it  will  prove  a 
stumbling  block  in  our  way." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"  I  hoped,  certainly,  that  you  would  consent  to  aid  me, 
as  formerly,  in  my  efforts.  I  have  awkwardly  stumbled 
upon  a  false  trail,  I  confess;  but  I  shall  return  to  the  first, 
which  is  assuredly  the  true  one." 

"  The  first?  "  she  said,  turning  very  pale,  as  she  under- 
stood his  drift. 

"  Yes,  Madame,  the  first.  Since  Langlade  is  not  the 
guilty  party,  I  have  more  reason  that  ever  for  suspecting 
Savari." 

"  Monsieur! " 

"  Madame! " 

"  You  have  no  right  to  suspect  the  one  you  speak  of." 

"  I  had  the  right  once,"  replied  Vibert,  cruelly;  "  why, 
pray,  not  now?" 

"  You  have  no  right!"  she  cried,  indignantly.  "He  is 
an  honest  man.  I  have  learned  to  know  him  and  esteem 
him.     Do  not  insult  him  longer  by  your  suspicions." 

"  Madame,"  replied  Vibert,  in  his  turn  exasperated  at 
seeing  her  so  energetically  defend  Savari,  and  forgetting 


IN  THE  RUE  DE   LA   PAIX.  283 

all  restraint,  "  since  I  have  entered  this  salon,  you  have 
taken  pleasure  in  recalling  to  me  that  I  am  not  a  man, 
but  simply  an  agent  of  police.  Well!  the  agent  of 
police  recognizes  only  his  duty;  he  has  been  told  to  seek 
out  a  criminal,  and  he  intends  to  do  so,  without  troubling 
himself  as  to  the  interest  a  woman  may  take  in  this  crim- 
inal or  the  love  she  feels  for  him." 

She  started  up  from  her  chair,  stretched  out  her  arm 
toward  the  door,  and  said  only  this  word: 

"  Go! " 

As  pale  as  she,  and  suffering  quite  as  much,  Vibert 
lowered  his  eyes  and  obeyed. 

When  he  had  reached  the  door,  she  thought  she  was 
rid  of  him,  and  throwing  herself  into  an  arm-chair,  she 
cried: 

"  Where  am  I?  What  sort  of  a  country  is  this,  where 
they  come  to  one's  house  to  assassinate  men  and  insult 
women?" 

She  was  sublime  in  her  indignation.  Her  beautiful 
black  hair,  which  she  had  scarcely  taken  time  to  roll 
hastily  up  to  receive  the  agent  of  police,  became  un- 
fastened and  fell  on  her  trembling  shoulders.  Her  bosom 
heaved  beneath  the  lace  of  her  dress.  Anger  flushed  her 
cheeks;  her  parted  lips  disclosed  her  pearly  teeth. 

Vibert,  who  had  stopped  to  contemplate  her,  had  never 
seen  her  so  beautiful.  He  could  not  contain  himself,  and, 
losing  his  head,  he  rushed  to  Fedora's  side,  took  her  head 
in  his  hands,  before  she  could  prevent  him,  and  pressed 
his  lips  to  hers. 

It  was  perhaps  the  first  kiss  he  had  ever  given  to  any 
woman. 

She  shuddered  at  this  hateful  contact,  then  disengaging 
herself  by  a  rapid  movement,  she  struck  Vibert  full  in 
the  face,  and  fled  from  the  room. 


284  FEDOEA  :   OK,  THE  TRAGEDY 


XX. 


Of  all  the  documents  which  have  passed  through  our 
hands  and  which  have  served  us  to  tell  this  story,  there 
only  remains  a  very  small  number  of  unfinished  notes. 
We  have  reached  the  fifth  act  of  our  drama.  The  moment 
for  lingering  over  details  has  passed,  and  we  must  hurry 
on  to  the  conclusion. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  affair  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  pro- 
gressed in  the  same  fashion  as  the  events  of  which  Paris 
was  the  theatre  in  1848.  In  the  Rue  de  Grammont,  inci- 
dent succeeded  incident,  as  at  the  Tuileries  ministry 
succeeded  ministry. 

In  the  former  place  an  extraordinary  scene  was  followed 
by  one  more  dramatic  still.  In  the  latter,  Mole  replaced 
Guizot,  Thiers  and  Odilon  Barret  replaced  Mole;  a  first 
concession  led  to  another;  to  the  Reform  succeeded  the 
Regency;  to  the  Regency,  the  Republic. 

This  correlation  need  not  astonish  us.  The  greater 
always  draws  the  less  into  its  orbit.  The  agitation  of  the 
masses  is  communicated  to  individuals;  the  fever  which 
rages  in  the  streets  mounts  into  the  houses. 

After  Vibert's  departure,  when  Fedora  had  somewhat 
recovered  from  her  indignation,  she  reflected  for  a 
moment,  formed  a  sudden  determination,  and  sat  down 
to  her  desk. 

"  Do  not  come  to  see  me  during  the  day,"  she  wrote  to 
Savari,  "but  come  this  evening  at  exactly  seven  o'clock; 
I  have  a  great  plan  to  communicate  to  you." 

She  folded  and  directed  it,  and  called  Marietta. 

"  Send  this  letter  at  once  to  its  address,"  she  said,  "  and 
return  to  me." 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA   PAIX.  285 

When  Marietta  had  executed  this  order,  Madame  Vidal 
said  to  her: 

"We  depart  to-morrow  for  Italy;  prepare  our  luggage. 
Now  aid  me  to  dress;  I  am  going  out." 

A  few  moments  afterward  she  entered  a  carriage,  went 
to  her  notary's,  with  whom  she  arranged  various  matters 
of  business,  entered  St.  Roch  Church,  where  she  remained 
for  a  long  time  in  prayer,  and  then  proceeded  to  the 
cemetery  of  Pere-Lachaise.  She  knelt  before  a  tomb 
and  appeared  to  implore  pardon. 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  she  could  accomplish 
these  different  pilgrimages.  It  was  now  Wednesday, 
February  twenty-third,  and  Paris  was  in  a  complete  state 
of  insurrection.  Entire  regiments,  in  battle  array,  denied 
upon  the  boulevards,  strong  patrols  marched  about  the 
streets;  the  artillery,  hastily  brought  from  Vincennes, 
was  placed  in  position  on  the  quays  and  at  the  gates  of 
St.  Denis  and  St.  Martin.  Here,  the  troops  of  the  line 
fraternized  with  the  people.  There,  the  national  guards 
tried  to  intervene  between  the  municipal  authorities  and 
the  rioters.  Gamins  ran  about  the  streets  crying:  "  Long 
live  the  Reform!"  Workingmen  planted  a  flag  upon  a 
barricade;  students  sang  the  Marseillaise.  Death  cries 
were  uttered  near  Saint-Merri.  At  the  Saint  Martin 
barracks,  at  the  Arts-et-Metiers,  in  the  Rue  Bourg-PAbb6, 
there  was  a  constant  fusillade. 

And  above  these  rumors,  cries  and  explosions  resounded 
the  solemn  voice  of  the  tocsin. 

No  accident  happened  to  Fedora;  she  traversed  a  great 
part  of  Paris  without  annoyance.  Moreover,  a  man,  whom 
she  did  not  notice,  followed  her  all  the  time  and  watched 
over  her.  He  even  slipped  into  her  house  and  went  up 
the  servants'  staircase,  while  she  went  up  the  grand 
stairway. 


286     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

It  was  nearly  seven  o'clock  when  she  returned  home 
and  found  Marietta  uneasily  awaiting  her.  Savari  arrived 
not  long  after. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked  her.  "  What  is  the  great  plan 
you  spoke  of  in  your  letter?  Does  the  riot  frighten  you, 
and  do  you  wish  to  leave  Paris?  " 

"  Exactly,"  she  replied.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  remain 
longer  exposed  to  all  the  dangers  to  be  met  with  here;  I 
depart  to-morrow." 

"  We  will  depart  together,"  said  Savari. 

"You  will  follow  me?" 

"  Can  you  ask  me  such  a  question?  "  he  exclaimed,  kiss- 
ing her  hands. 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly,  read  in  his  eyes  all  the  love 
he  felt  for  her,  and  said  to  him: 

"  Sit  down,  I  have  something  serious  to  say  to  you." 

"  Speak,"  replied  Savari,  taking  his  place  beside  her  on 
the  sofa  in  the  salon. 

"  I  have  committed  a  great  fault,  a  greater  fault  than  I 
thought.  I  have  deplored  it  bitterly;  but  I  do  not  wish 
to  hold  you  responsible  for  it,  and  we  will  never  speak  of 
it  again.  I  trust  to  your  love,  and  I  am  certain  you  will 
try  to  make  me  forget  the  past." 

"  Oh,  yes! "  cried  Savari,  "  my  whole  existence  belongs 
to  you." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  she  replied.  "  What  would  be- 
come of  me  without  you?  I  have  even,"  she  added,  sadly, 
"  lost  the  right  of  remembering." 

"Do  not  look  back;  believe  and  hope.  You  speak  of 
departing  for  Italy.  I  desire  nothing  better.  In  that 
beautiful,  sunny  land,  near  you,  with  your  heart  beating 
against  mine,  I  shall  acquire  the  qualities  I  lack,  and  I 
shall  efface  entirely  from  my  life  my  bad  years,  my  errors 
and  my  faults." 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  287 

"And  I  shall  be  proud  of  you,"  she  exclaimed, with 
enthusiasm,  for  little  by  little  Savari  had  communicated 
his  ardor  to  her  and  made  her  forget  the  emotions  of  the 
day. 

"  Where  shall  we  go?"  he  asked.  "To  Italy,  to  your 
family?" 

"Yes;  I  shall  be  happy  to  have  you  meet  my  mother." 

" How  will  you  introduce  me — as  a  friend?" 

"  No;  to  my  family,  you  shall  be  the  man  whose  name 
I  shall  bear  when  my  mourning  is  at  an  end." 

"You  consent?"  he  cried. 

"Certainly,"  she  replied,  quietly.  "You  can  marry 
me  in  all  security,"  she  added,  with  a  charming  smile; 
"  my  family  is  an  honorable  one,  and  there  is  nothing  in 
my  past  with  which  I  can  be  reproached." 

"Ah!"  said  Savari,  "would  that  I  could  say  as 
much! " 

At  this  moment  Fedora's  salon  was  suddenly  illumin- 
ated. A  band  of  men  bearing  torches  passed  down  the 
Rue  de  Grammont  to  reach  the  boulevards.  They  were 
preceded  and  followed  by  an  immense  crowd,  singing  the 
Marseillaise.  Drums  and  fifes  accompanied  the  voices. 
They  were  celebrating  the  victory  gained  that  day  by  the 
people  over  royalty.  The  demanded  reforms  had  been 
granted  and  the  ministry  changed.  The  barricades  were 
deserted,  the  troops  returned  to  the  barracks,  all  were  in 
high  good  humor  and  prepared  illuminations  on  all  sides, 
without  suspecting  that  an  hour  afterward  they  would  be 
fighting  desperately  on  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines. 

Whatever  opinion  one  may  hold,  nothing  electrifies  one 
like  songs,  music,  lights  and  cheers.  They  communicate 
enthusiasm  to  the  calmest,  give  courage  to  the  timid,  and 
rouse  the  most  phlegmatic. 

Savari,  already  strongly  moved   by  the    conversation 


288  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

which  had  taken  place,  was  in  a  high  state  of  excitement, 
when,  after  a  glance  through  the  window,  he  returned  to 
his  place  near  Fedora.  He  was  in  one  of  those  states 
when  the  wisest  forget  prudence,  obey  their  impulses  and 
see  life  under  a  new  aspect.  What  an  instant  before 
would  have  appeared  impossible,  monstrous,  now  seems 
natural  and  simple;  strange  fancies  take  possession  of  one 
at  such  times,  and  extraordinary  boldness;  anything 
seems  allowable. 

For  a  long  time  back,  Savari  had  thought  of  imparting 
an  important  secret  to  Fedora.  An  enormous  weight 
was  crushing  him  down,  a  terrible  thought  torturing  him, 
and  a  frightful  sorrow  poisoned  his  happiest  moments. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  could  confess  his  secret  to 
some  one,  open  his  heart  to  a  friend,  he  would  suffer  less. 
If  above  all,  Fedora,  in  whom  he  had  absolute  confidence, 
would  listen  to  him,  and  after  having  heard  him,  would 
think  him  worthy  of  absolution,  he  would  be  saved.  But, 
although  ready  to  speak,  he  had  hitherto  remained  silent. 
But  now  he  took  a  determined  resolution.  She  had 
spoken  to  him  of  her  life;  he  must  speak  to  her  of  his. 
There  must  be  no  secrets  between  them ;  they  loved  each 
other  too  well.  Before  allowing  her  to  bear  his  name, 
honor  demanded  that  he  should  tell  what  might  soil  that 
name.  Who  would  be  indulgent,  if  not  Fedora?  Who, 
better  than  she,  could  dry  his  tears,  console  and  comfort 
him  with  gentle  words? 

The  cries  and  songs  still  mounted  up  from  the  street, 
and  the  torches  threw  their  flickering  light  into  the  room. 
He  leaned  toward  her  and  said: 

"  A  secret  oppresses  me.     May  I  confide  it  to  you?  " 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered,  simply. 

"  But  it  is  causing  me  terrible  remorse,  remorse  whieh  is 
tearing  at  my  heartl  " 


IN  THE   RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  289 

"  Remorse !  "  repeated  Fedora,  raising  her  head. 

"Listen,"  he  continued,  in  extraordinary  excitement, 
"suppose  some  one  should  suddenly  say  to  you  that  the 
man  you  love,  the  man  to  whom  you  have  given  your  life, 
whose  name  you  have  consented  to  bear,  had  been  guilty 
of  a  wicked  action,  had  perhaps  committed  a  crime — " 

"  Ah!  "  she  cried,  "  I  would  not  believe  it!  " 

"But  if  it  were  true?  If,  in  a  moment  of  anger  and 
madness,  he  had  stabbed  a  man  ?  " 

She  turned  pale  and  recoiled. 

"  And  if,"  continued  Savari,  "  by  a  terrible  fatality,  the 
man  had  died  of  the  wound  inflicted?" 

"  Be  silent!  be  silent!  "  she  cried,  instinctively. 

"  No,  I  have  commenced  and  I  must  finish.  This  secret 
stifles  me.     You  must  condemn  me  or  absolve  me!  " 

She  tried  again  to  force  him  to  cease,  but  he  did  not 
heed  her.  He  had  risen,  and,  feverish  and  agitated,  he 
was  striding  up  and  down  the  apartment. 

M  Listen,"  he  exclaimed,  "and  learn  to  know  me!  Or- 
dinarily calm  and  tranquil,  there  are  times  when  I  am 
excitable,  violent,  and  when  I  have  no  control  over  my- 
self. Sometimes  certain  wines  make  me  lose  my  head. 
I  had  dined  at  a  restaurant  on  the  boulevards;  I  was 
worried  and  anxious,  and  I  allowed  myself  to  drink  more 
than  usual.  After  dinner,  T  went  to  the  house  of  a  young 
man  with  whom  I  had  had  some  serious  business  difficul- 
ties. I  owed  him  a  large  sum,  I  could  not  pay  it,  and  I 
wished  to  tell  him  so.  I  found  him  alone  in  his  rooms; 
he  had  just  come  in  and  was  about  to  retire.  He  re- 
ceived me  harshly.  I  explained  to  him  my  painful  situa- 
tion and  asked  him  not  to  prosecute  me!  I  said  to  him: 
*  You  will  ruin  me,  you  will  take  away  the  little  credit 
remaining  to  me  on  the  Bourse  and  which  enables  me  to 
live.'     He  replied  that  that  was  no  affair  of  his.     I  im- 

19 


290  FEDOEA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

plored  him,  yes,  I  implored  him;  I  descended  to  implore 
him.  He  was  insensible  to  my  prayers.  Then,  at  the 
height  of  exasperation,  I  exclaimed:  'You  will  be  the 
cause  of  a  tragedy,  then;  rather  than  be  humiliated,  I 
will  kill  myself ! '  '  You,'  he  answered,  in  a  mocking  tone, 
'you  kill  yourself ?  Pooh!  See,  here  is  a  pretty  little 
dagger:  take  it,  I  will  give  it  to  you,  so  sure  am  I  that 
you  will  not  make  a  bad  use  of  it.'  Mechanically  I  took 
the  knife;  but  the  blood  mounted  to  my  head,  the  heavy 
wines  I  had  drunk  made  me  lose  my  reason.  I  no  longer 
besought  my  creditor,  I  reproached  him  with  his  harshness. 
'My  harshness!'  he  cried.  'Wait!  here  is  your  note; 
take  it,  I  give  it  back  to  you;  I  don't  wish  to  have  anything 
more  to  do  with  you.  But  I  shall  have  the  right  to  say 
everywhere  that  you  are  a  thief ! '  A  thief !  I  !  I  threw 
myself  upon  him,  he  struck  me  in  the  face.  Then,  insane 
with  anger,  I  struck  him,  in  my  turn,  with  the  knife  he 
had  placed  in  my  hands.  He  uttered  a  cry  and  fell;  I 
threw  the  knife  away  and  fled  in  horror.  Ah!  I  swear 
to  you,  this  is  the  way  it  happened!  " 

Savari  paused,  took  breath,  and  continued,  still  walk- 
ing up  and  down,  and  without  looking  at  Fedora:  "  I 
thought  I  had  inflicted  a  slight  wound!  I  had  killed 
him !  A  few  days  after,  I  was  arrested !  At  first,  I 
meant  to  confess  all.  No  jury  would  have  convicted  me. 
I  was  unfortunate,  but  I  was  not  a  criminal!  I  had 
caused  the  death  of  this  man,  but  I  had  not  intended  to 
do  so!  Suddenly,  I  remembered  the  note  he  had  given 
me,  which  I  would  not  take  and  which  he  had  forced  into 
the  pocket  of  my  overcoat.  It  must  be  there  stilj,  it 
would  be  found,  and  if  I  confessed,  I  was  lost.  I  should 
then  appear  only  as  a  vulgar  assassin,  it  would  look  as  if 
I  had  killed  him  to  be  rid  of  my  debt.  Then  I  resolved 
to  defend  myself,  to  employ  all  my  intelligence  to  deeeive 


THE   DENOUEMENT.      "i   AM   THE    WIDOW   OP  MAURICE   VIDAt,."      PAGE   291. 


IN  THE  EUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  291 

justice  and  to  save  my  neck.  If  life  becomes  burden- 
some to  me,  I  thought,  if  the  memory  of  my  crime  renders 
my  existence  insupportable,  there  will  always  be  time 
enough  for  me  to  kill  myself.  I  can  choose  my  method 
of  death,  and  without  mounting  the  scaffold,  I  can  satisfy 
justice  with  my  own  hand! — They  believed  in  my  inno- 
cence, set  me  at  liberty,  and  at  the  moment  when,  in 
despair,  I  should  perhaps  have  put  an  end  to  my  life,  I 
suddenly  clung  to  it  with  all  my  strength,  for  I  met  you 
and  loved  you! — Speak,  now!"  he  added,  advancing  to- 
ward Fedora,  but  without  daring  to  look  at  her  yet; 
"speak,  you  know  my  crime;  will  you  absolve  me?" 

With  her  head  buried  in  her  hands,  she  made  no 
response. 

This  silence  terrified  him;  he  seized  her  hands  gently 
and  raised  her  head,  but  only  to  recoil  with  a  cry  of  alarm. 
Her  face  was  livid.  Two  great  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  Oh  ! "  he  cried,  "  I  am  more  guilty  then  than  I 
thought.     You  refuse  to  pardon  me?  " 

She  rose  slowly  to  her  feet,  and  said,  with  a  voice  stifled 
with  emotion: 

"  I  am  the  widow  of  Maurice  Vidal ! " 


XXI. 

After  a  few  minutes,  Savari,  pale  as  death  and  incapa- 
ble even  of  thinking,  mechanically  quitted  the  room 
where  Fedora  had  left  him  alone. 

He  opened  the  door  and  descended  the  stairs,  holding 
on  to  the  banisters,  for  his  trembling  limbs  refused  to 
support  him. 


292      fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

"When  he  reached  the  street,  he  turned  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  boulevards.  He  felt  his  way  along  the  walls 
like  a  drunken  man,  and  staggered  at  every  step. 

Those  terrible  words,  "  I  am  Maurice  Vidal's  widow," 
rang  continually  in  his  ears.  He  saw  them  written  before 
him  in  letters  red  as  blood. 

Each  of  the  letters  composing  those  words  were  enor- 
mously high  and  seemed  to  bar  his  passage.  One  of  them 
suddenly  changed  its  aspect,  assumed  a  human  form 
and  rose  up  before  him.  He  thought  he  perceived  dis- 
tinctly Maurice  Vidal,  who  seemed  to  motion  him  back. 

At  the  corner  of  the  boulevard  and  the  Rue  de  Gram- 
mont,  a  strange  sight  dazzled  his  eyes:  A  long  garland 
of  lights  ran  from  house  to  house.  An  immense  crowd 
filled  the  whole  place;  they  waved  flags  and  transparen- 
cies, laughed  and  sang.     Joy  was  depicted  on  every  face. 

He  did  not  understand  what  was  taking  place. 

Leaning  against  the  closed  shutters  of  a  liquor  saloon, 
he  regarded  with  a  dazed  look  the  moving  crowd. 

They  pushed  and  jostled  him,  but  he  did  not  perceive 
it.  Suddenly,  a  thin,  pale  little  man  seized  him  by  the 
arm,  and  said  to  him:  * 

"  Albert  Savari,  in  the  name  of  the  law,  I  arrest  you! " 

Savari,  without  making  any  movement  or  gesture, 
without  attempting  to  disengage  his  arm,  lowered  his 
eyes  to  the  speaker,  recognized  him,  and  answered,  sadly: 

"  I  am  in  no  mood  for  jesting." 

"  But  I  am  not  jesting,"  said  the  pale  little  man.  "I 
arrest  you  as  the  murderer  of  Maurice  Vidal." 

Nothing  could  astonish  Savari  now;  he  did  not  even 
start,  but  simply  said: 

"  Who  are  you,  then,  Monsieur?  " 

"I  am  an  agent  of  police  and  my  name  is  Vibert." 

"  Ahl  I  understand,"  said  Savari,  gradually  recovering 


IN  THE  KtJE  DE  LA  J>AIX.  t95 

his  reason;  "you  are  no  more  the  Count  de  Rubini  than 
she  is  your  cousin." 

u  Exactly,"  replied  the  agent  of  police.  "  Will  you 
follow  me  without  my  being  obliged  to  have  recourse  to 
violence?" 

"One  moment,"  said  Savari;  "  why  do  you  say  that  I 
am  the  murderer  of  Maurice  Vidal?  " 

"  Because  you  have  confessed  it." 

"To  whom?" 

"  To  his  widow." 

"  Ah! "  cried  Savari,  "  she  has  denounced  me  already! " 

No  words  can  render  the  tone  in  which  he  uttered 
these  words.  It  was  not  a  reproach,  nor  a  complaint;  it 
was  the  cry  of  a  broken  heart.  Any  other  agent  of 
police  would  have  been  touched.  But  an  unfortunate 
rival  could  not  be,  and  Vibert  did  not  undeceive  Savari. 

"Come!"  said  the  agent  of  police. 

"  Lead  the  way,"  replied  Savari. 

What  mattered  the  prison  and  the  scaffold  to  him 
now? 

At  this  moment  a  long  column  of  people  descended 
the  boulevards.  Much  more  numerous  than  those  which 
had  been  marching  about  Paris  during  the  evening,  it 
was  composed  of  students,  members  of  the  national 
guard,  men  in  blouses,  women  and  children.  It  came 
from  the  Faubourg  Saint-Antoine,  and  was  making  its 
way  tumultuously  toward  the  Madelaine,  singing  patriotic 
songs  and  waving  torches,  tri-colored  lanterns  and  red 
flags. 

Vibert  and  Savari,  too  agitated  to  notice  what  was 
taking  place  about  them,  had  not  observed  the  approach 
of  this  column.  They  suddenly  found  themselves  jostled, 
surrounded  and  separated.  Vibert,  who  struggled  and 
resisted,  was  soon  hustled  away  to  the  rear  ranks  of  the 


294  FEDORA  :   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

crowd.  Savari,  on  the  contrary,  made  no  opposition, 
remained  in  the  front,  and  allowed  himself  to  be  carried 
along  by  the  tumultuous  flow  of  human  beings.  Soon 
the  mass  of  people,  increasing  at  every  step,  came  in 
front  of  the  regiment  of  soldiers,  which  was  guarding 
the  office  of  the  minister  of  foreign  affairs.  The  com- 
mander ordered  his  troops,  numbering  two  hundred  men, 
to  form  a  hollow  square.  The  front  of  the  column, 
pushed  from  behind,  could  not  stop.  The  soldiers 
lowered  their  bayonets  to  the  charge. 

A  cry  of  "We  are  betrayed!"  rose  from  all  sides. 

Some  one,  no  one  knew  who,  fired  a  pistol 

The  soldiers  thinking  themselves  attacked,  immediately 
brought  their  guns  to  their  shoulders,  and  fired.  Sixty 
men  fell ;  more  than  thirty  of  them  killed  outright.  Blood 
flowed  in  streams 

When  the  first  moment  of  fright  and  stupefaction  was 
over,  they  began  to  think  of-  the  wounded,  and  bore  them 
into  the  neighboring  houses  and  drug  stores.  The  dead 
bodies  were  piled  on  a  wagon  drawn  by  a  white  horse, 
and,  accompanied  by  torch-bearers,  the  funeral  procession 
moved  through  Paris,  amidst  cries  a  thousand  times 
repeated,  of  "Vengeance!  vengeance!  The  people  have 
been  murdered!" 

Savari,  who  was  in  the  front  of  the  column,  was  mor- 
tally wounded. 

Carried  into  a  doorway  near  by,  he  signed  to  the  peo- 
ple about  him  that  he  wished  to  speak,  and  some  one 
bent  down  to  hear. 

"  Carry  me  to  the  Rue  de  Grammont,"  he  murmured, 
"  I  wish  to  see  her  once  more  before  I  die." 

Two  men  of  the  people,  two  of  those  men  who  devote 
themselves  to  all  unfortunates  and  are  moved  by  all  en- 
treaties, improvised  a  litter,  placed  the   wounded  man 


IS  THE  RUE  BE  LA  PAIX.  295 

upon  it  and  set  out  in  the  direction  indicated.  A  child 
followed  them,  holding  in  his  hands  a  torch,  which  threw 
its  light  upon  Savari's  bleeding  breast  and  his  handsome 
face  already  touched  with  the  death  pallor.  The  crowd 
made  way  for  them,  the  women  weeping  and  the  men 
shouting,  "  To  arms!  "  It  was  about  midnight;  the  rat- 
tle of  the  drums  was  heard  in  the  distance;  all  the 
churches  sounded  the  tocsin. 

The  men  who  bore  Savari,  and  the  child  who  followed 
them  with  his  torch,  advanced  slowly. 

When  they  arrived  before  a  certain  house  in  the  Rue 
de  Grammont,  the  wounded  man  motioned  them  to  stop. 

They  entered,  ascended  to  the  third  floor  and  rang  the 
bell. 

But  no  one  answered.  The  apartment  was  now  de- 
serted. 

Fedora,  overwhelmed  with  horror  at  the  revelation  made 
to  her,  had  fled  with  Marietta  half  an  hour  before. 

Savari  would  not  allow  them  to  carry  him  home,  and 
after  a  few  moments  of  agony,  he  expired  at  the  door  of 
the  woman  he  loved,  murmuring  her  name. 


XXII. 

When  the  deep  voice  of  riot  growls  in  Paris,  the  agita- 
tion which  reigns  in  the  streets  easily  scales  the  highest 
walls  and  penetrates  the  prisons.  The  jailors  relax  their 
watchfulness;  they  are  anxious  for  news  from  without, 
and  they  fear  for  their  own  safety.  The  soldiers,  who,  if 
need  be,  might  lend  them  aid,  are  often  obliged  to  aban- 
don their  posts  in  the  prison  and  go  to  the  barracks. 
The  prisoners  are  agitated,  violent,  ready  to  seize  upon 


296  FEDORA  J   OR,  THE  TRAGEDY 

any  opportunity  to  break  down  the  doors,  scale  the  walls 
and  massacre  those  who  attempt  to  prevent  them. 

Without,  the  people  are  fighting  for  Liberty  in  gen- 
eral; within,  the  prisoner  is  ready  to  fight  for  his  own 
liberty. 

Thursday,  the  twenty-fourth  of  February,  when  the 
riot  was  at  its  height,  Langlade  threw  himself  upon  a 
jailor  who  had  the  imprudence  to  enter  alone  into  his 
cell,  gagged  him,  took  off  his  uniform,  dressed  himself  in 
it,  and  taking  possession  of  his  bunch  of  keys,  walked 
quietly  out  of  the  prison.  They  were  still  fighting  upon 
the  quays,  and  the  jailors  and  policemen  of  all  kinds  were 
too  much  excited  to  notice  his  audacious  escape. 

He  took  part  in  the  riot,  fighting  now  with  the  people, 
and  now  with  the  troops.  It  made  no  difference  to  him. 
He  had  no  political  opinions.  He  entered  the  Tuileries, 
plundered  the  palace,  drank  the  king's  wines,  and  half 
intoxicated,  besmeared  with  blood  and  dirt,  with  his  pistol 
in  his  hand  and  his  sabre  slung  to  his  side  by  a  heavy  red 
cord,  he  betook  himself  to  Soleil-Couchant  to  finish  his 
evening.  Without  troubling  himself  to  ring,  ke  kicked 
open  the  door  of  his  former  mistress,  entered  the  salon, 
heard  the  sound  of  voioes  in  the  next  room,  and  advanced 
in  that  direction. 

Soleil-Couchant  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  and  her  young 
Englishman,  stretched  out  in  an  arm-chair,  was  smoking  a 
cigarette.  The  former,  when  she  perceived  Langlade, 
soreamed  with  fear.     It  was  indeed  enough  to  terrify  her. 

The  Englishman  exclaimed: 

"  Damn  it!  who  are  you?" 

Langlade's  only  answer  was  to  take  him  by  the  arm, 
lead  him  through  the  salon  and  throw  him  out  into  the 
hall.  He  then  bolted  the  outer  door  of  the  apartment, 
and  returned  to  the  inner  room. 


LANGLADE   THROWING   SOLIEL-COUCHANT  OUT   OF  THE   WINDOW.      PAOE  2'JS. 
U 


m  THE  RUE  DE  LA  PAIX.  297 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  asked  Soleil-Couchant, 
who  was  too  terrified  to  dream  of  attempting  to  escape. 

"  You  shall  know  soon  enough !  "  responded  Langlade. 

"  Are  you  going  to  kill  me  ?  "  she  cried. 

"No,  not  yet,"  he  answered.  "Go  to  bed.  Don't 
worry  yourself  about  me." 

TV  *|C  5j-  m  TN?  !|C  If 

The  next  morning,  about  seven  o'clock,  Langlade,  who 
had  not  slept,  opened  the  shutters. 

The  pale  light  of  a  winter's  morning  penetrated  the 
apartment.  Soleil-Couchant,  worn  out,  was  asleep.  Lang- 
lade leaned  over  her,  and  contemplated  her  for  a  long 
time. 

Then  he  awoke  her. 

"  Oh,  let  me  sleep,"  said  Soleil-Couchant,  rubbing  her 
eyes. 

"No,"  he  said,  "you  will  sleep  a  sounder  sleep 
presently." 

These  words  thoroughly  roused  her.  She  rose  up  in 
bed,  and  cried: 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to  me?" 

"  Keep  my  oath  and  kill  you!  " 

"Oh!  have  mercy!  have  mercy!  "she  cried,  trying  to 
wind  her  arms  about  him. 

"  No,  no  mercy! "  said  Langlade,  repulsing  her. 

"  But  you  are  free  now,  we  can  fly  and  live  together." 

"  No,  I  no  longer  wish  it.     You  do  not  love  me." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do  love  you!  " 

"Be silent!     You  lie!  " 

"  I  love  you,  I  tell  you,  I  swear  it!  " 

"  A  woman  does  not  give  up  the  man  she  loves,  drag 
him  into  court,  betray  him!     No!  prepare  to  die!  " 

"No,  no!     Mercy!  mercy!" 

"  If  you  believe  in  God,  say  your  prayers.     When  that 


298     fedora:  or,  the  tragedy 

clock,  which  your  Englishman  gave  you,  strikes  seven, 
you  will  have  ceased  to  live." 

She  leaped  from  her  bed,  she  threw  herself  at  Langlade's 
feet,  clung  to  him,  wept  and  prayed.  But  he  was  inex- 
orable, and  only  said  to  her: 

"Remember  the  scene  in  the  prison!  " 

Seven  o'clock  struck.  He  threw  open  the  window 
wide,  and  seized  Soleil-Couchant. 

With  one  hand  he  pinioned  her  arms  to  prevent  her 
from  clinging  to  him,  raised  her,  bore  her  to  the  window, 
and  threw  her  out  into  space. 

Then  he  leaned  out,  marked  the  place  where  she  had 
fallen  upon  the  pavement,  leaped  upon  the  window  sill 
and  flung  himself  down  after  her. 

He  breathed  still  when  he  reached  the  ground. 

Then  the  spectators  of  this  terrible  scene  saw  him  drag 
himself  painfully  upon  his  hands  and  knees  to  the  body 
of  his  dead  mistress.  * 

When  he  breathed  his  last  sigh,  he  still  held  her 
strained  to  his  mangled  breast. 

There  is  at  Genoa  a  charitable  institution  which  bears 
a  charming  name:  Albergo  dei  Poveri.  Mark:  hotel,  and 
not  hospital ;  which  signifies  that  to  become  an  inmate,  it 
is  not  absolutely  necessary  to  be  ill  or  injured. 

To  have  the  right  to  enter  this  house  of  charity,  one 
has  only  to  be  too  old,  too  young  or  too  feeble  to  work. 
Old  people  are  kept  there  till  they  die,  young  children 
till  they  grow  up,  and  feeble  persons  till  they  have 
recovered  their  strength  by  the  tenderest  care.  The  Al- 
bergo dei  Poveri  has  more  than  two  thousand  inmates. 
The  sisters  of  charity  are  not  French  alone,  they  are  of 
all  nations. 

Fedora  Vidal  retired  to  t?he  refuge  of  which  we  speak, 


IN  THE  EtTE  DE  LA  PA IX.  299 

and  she  is  still  there.     She  has  made  herself   renowned 

for  her  unfailing  zeal,  devotion  and  tenderness. 

Marietta  has  never  left  her,  and  aids  her  in  her  noble 

work. 

******* 

A  madman  died  some  years  ago  in  Dr.  Blanche's  pri- 
vate asylum.     He  was  the  richest  patient  of  the  house; 

he  had  inherited  from  the  Marquis  de  X ,  formerly 

peer  of  France,  an  income  of  one  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year. 

He  was  ordinarily  quiet  and  gentle,  and  had  only  one 
mania,  which  was  to  constantly  listen  at  doors.  He  would 
glide  through  all  the  corridors,  crouch  down  in  a  corner 
near  a  door,  and  peep  through  the  keyhole,  or  apply  his 
ear  to  it. 

There  were,  however,  times  during  the  year,  when  his 
insanity  would  take  a  more  dangerous  character;  it  was 
then  necessary  to  use  a  strait-jacket.  But  these  crises 
were  always  announced  beforehand  in  a  queer  way:  he 
would  complain  that  his  lips  were  on  fire;  he  would  ask 
for  water  to  cool  them,  and,  every  once  in  a  while,  would 
pass  his  hand  over  his  mouth,  like  a  person  trying  to  efface 
the  traces  of  a  kiss. 


THB  END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

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